The New World
by lindir's gaze
Summary: The world has ended; the dead roam the streets. Bilbo Baggins has been surviving on his own, content to stay alone if it means staying alive, but this all changes when he crosses paths with two young boys desperate to make it back to their family.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The road was completely empty.

Sure, there was the occasional vacant car or flock of scattered litter or even a few gruesome red-turned brown stains on the dry pavement. But Bilbo had noticed, as the weeks went on, that he saw less and less signs of people every time he drove down this stretch of highway.

The food had been running out, too. At first, he'd been able to get by scavenging from grocery stores, then from school cafeterias, and finally from abandoned houses. But his efforts, and the efforts of other survivors, had eventually drained the resources from the buildings surrounding the apartment complex where he'd been living since it had all started. As the food had dwindled, so had the people.

These trips down the highway to adjacent towns had become something of a weekly routine. Bilbo glanced over at the wire shopping basket in the passenger seat and frowned. Three hours of searching, and he'd only managed to find a couple boxes of pasta, a few canned soups and beans, and one packet of chips.

He'd mapped out the nearby towns in an increasing radius from his home—though it was really more of a semicircle, as he tried his best to avoid the city. That had been one of the most important messages the radios had been able to get out before they stopped broadcasting entirely—_stay away from the city_.

So he'd keep hitting suburb after suburb, ten, twenty, thirty miles away, until those ran dry too. And once he couldn't find any more gas…

Bilbo shook his head. He should have left weeks ago, tried to find a safer place—perhaps one of the quarantine zones the military had supposedly set up in some of the northern cities. But the thought of leaving his home, the place where he had grown up, was something he just couldn't consider just yet.

As usual, the lot was mostly empty when he arrived. He parked his car and grabbed his basket of supplies. Though the building was almost entirely empty, he took care not to let the cans rattle too much as he took the four flights of stairs up to his apartment.

The first sign that something was wrong was the noise coming from the door on the left. Mrs. Greenfield had turned during the first week of the outbreak, and had spent the next scratching on the door and growling. It was part of the reason Bilbo preferred to move so quietly.

But she had calmed down after that, and only really got agitated when there was a storm or some other loud noise. If she was scratching at the door now, that meant someone had passed her recently—that someone was here.

Bilbo scanned the hallway, which was lit only by a window at the other end. He began moving towards his apartment, avoiding the creaky floorboards as he went. His door, 417, was at the end of the corridor.

As he got closer, he realized with horror that it was open.

He reached into his jacket pocket, fingers closing around the grip of his handgun. He'd pilfered it from the remains of a shootout a while back, and while he had absolutely no idea how to use it, he'd figured it would come in handy if he ever had to persuade anyone not to shoot him first.

Holding the gun with both hands, Bilbo crept towards the door and pushed it open with the barrel, like he'd seen actors do on TV.

The living room looked untouched for the most part. His books were stacked neatly on the shelf, family photos still arranged on top. A map of the county was still spread on the coffee table, his empty mug of tea next to it. He went to pick it up to bring it to the kitchen to be washed, then remembered he was supposed to be looking for intruders.

The sound of crinkling plastic sounded from the kitchen, making him tense up. Bilbo raised the gun again and continued into the next room.

The pantry door was open, and a growing pile of empty wrappers sat next to it. Two figures were sitting on the floor, partially hidden behind the open door. Bilbo edged into the room and realized the two were children—a split second before they noticed him. One of them raised his hand, something flashing orange in his grip, and Bilbo cried out as something hit him in the eye.

"Kíli, come _on_!"

Momentarily stunned, Bilbo could do nothing as the two pushed him and ran from the room. With one hand cupped over his eye, he looked down and saw a bullet on the ground—of the foam variety, or else he'd be half-blind and dying on his kitchen floor.

He glanced at the gun dangling uselessly in his hand, then decided it would be of very little use in this situation. He left it on the kitchen counter and dashed back out the door.

The two children were already nearing the other end of the hallway. The taller of the two, with blond hair, was wearing a blue sweater with _Ered Luin Junior High_ emblazoned on the back.

They reached the end of the hallway, and Bilbo immediately recognized with a wave of dread what was about to happen. The stairwell door, which looked quite a bit like the rest of the doors in the hall, was not at the very end of the hallway, but the one to the left. The boys, apparently having forgotten this, were heading for the wrong door.

The boy with the blue sweater opened the door to Mrs Greenfield's apartment, and she fell on him with a snarl.

"No!" Bilbo was sprinting for them before he even knew what he was doing. He cursed himself for leaving his gun back in the kitchen, but there was no time to go back.

Mrs Greenfield had turned frail from lack of food in the weeks after her death, her pale skin sagging from her cheeks. Both she and the boy toppled to the ground, and her stringy hair moved aside to reveal the bite mark on the back of her shoulder, and the brown bloodstain on her cashmere sweater.

She snarled and scratched at the boy with ragged nails, teeth clacking as her head jerked downwards. He let out a cry of terror and shoved at her shoulders, though this was only enough to push her up a bit.

The other boy, who had backed against the wall at first, now darted forward and slapped ineffectually at Mrs Greenfield's head, fear making his movements clumsy. "Fíli!" he shouted, sounding tearful.

Bilbo finally managed to reach them. He grabbed Mrs Greenfield by the back of her sweater and heaved her off the boy, sending her with a strength he didn't know he possessed back into her apartment. She gave another snarl and lunged again, but he managed to slam the door shut just in time.

With her growls and scratches muffled by the wood, he leaned against the wall and let out a breath in an unsteady whoosh. His legs were shaking so badly he could barely stand. The boy who had been attacked, the one named Fíli, was trembling just as badly. The other one sat down next to him and began to cry.

Half a minute ticked by, and Bilbo realized that someone had to take control of the situation. He knelt down next to Fíli and looked him over. "Are you all right? Did she bite you? Scratch you?"

He shook his head, wide eyes locked in a rather blank stare.

"Come now, it's all right." He touched his shoulder, ready to help him sit up.

At this, Fíli jumped into action, fingers locking around the orange dart gun in his hand and delivering another foam bullet to Bilbo's chest.

"Um." He looked down as the projectile bounced off his shirt. "You know those don't actually do anything, right?"

"Gave us time to get away," the other boy, Kíli, said, wiping tears from his cheeks.

Well, he couldn't argue with that. "Nonetheless, that was very dangerous, what you did. I could have shot you when I came in."

Fíli glared at him and stood up, placing himself in between Bilbo and Kíli. He aimed his dart gun again and looked around, as though trying to place which door would lead to the stairs and which one had more dead ones behind it.

"N-Not that I would have." Bilbo stood as well and held up his hands in surrender. "I'm not going to hurt you. You two just surprised me, is all."

The dart gun lowered an inch or two.

"What were you doing in my apartment, anyway?" he asked, though the answer had already crept into his mind. Both boys were incredibly skinny, their clothes hanging off them more than they should. He thought back to the pile of wrappers on his kitchen floor. "Were you just looking for some food?"

Fíli kept glaring and said nothing. For his part, Kíli seemed content to peer at Bilbo from behind the other's shoulder. The rumbling growl that issued from his stomach, however, was answer enough.

"Look here." Bilbo glanced back down the hallway at his abandoned basket of food. "I've just come back from scavenging some food. I have more than enough to share, and if you would like, I'll make some soup for you two." He tried for a smile. "Think of it as an apology for my neighbor, um, attacking you."

Behind the door, Mrs Greenfield growled.

Fíli still looked as if he wanted to riddle him with foam darts. But he glanced back at Kíli, then nodded and lowered his weapon.

"Right, then. Feel free to follow me." Bilbo set off back down the hallway, pausing to collect his basket of things. The boys followed him at a distance, but they made it all the way back into the kitchen.

Bilbo set his things down on the counter, and after a moment's consideration, took the gun and put it on top of the fridge. He did not want to see what trigger-happy Fíli would do if he got his hands on it.

The boys came and sat at the kitchen table, and watched in silence as he took out a couple of soup cans, poured them into a pot, and lit the stove.

As he was waiting for the soup to heat up, he glanced at the wrappers on the floor. The kids had managed to finish off an entire family-size bag of chips, two sleeves of Oreos, and had picked out most of the M&Ms out of his trail mix.

"You two must have been hungry, hm?" Bilbo glanced at them. "How long have you been on your own?"

Fíli kept frowning at him. After a moment, Kíli said, "We're not supposed to talk to strangers." The elder turned, looking as if he wanted to protest even that answer, then seemed to decide it was acceptable and said nothing.

"I could tell you a bit about myself." Bilbo leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "Then I wouldn't be a stranger anymore."

They shrugged in unison, which he decided to take as an affirmative.

"My name is Bilbo Baggins. This is my apartment, and I've lived here all my life. I've been living here by myself since the outbreak. I thought I could stay here and, I dunno, weather the storm." He cleared his throat, realizing he'd strayed into a rather dark topic. "I like to read. I, um, was actually writing my own book before...all this, though I doubt I'll ever finish it now."

The manuscript was in the desktop computer in his office, but he hadn't been able to access it since the power had gone out.

"We were on the bus," Fíli said, then clamped his lips shut as if he hadn't meant to speak.

"The school bus?" Bilbo prompted, glancing at his blue sweater. To his knowledge, Ered Luin was a few miles west, a bit closer to the city. "What grade are you in, then?" He hoped a more mundane question might help him relax a bit.

"Seventh grade. Kíli's in second grade."

Bilbo turned to stir the soup to hide his grimace. They were both far too young to be on their own, especially when the world was filled with roaming corpses and god knows what else.

"We were on the bus," Fíli repeated. "And all these cars started coming, so we had to wait in traffic for a really long time. And then everyone got out and started running, so we started running too."

He could picture the scenario all too well. The highways leading out of the city had clogged up as soon as the outbreak happened. Soon after, the tide of dead had followed and driven everyone away, leaving hundreds of empty metal husks on the road. The image, described in detail on the radios before they went out, had kept him up at night.

"We went back home, but nobody was there." Fíli's chin trembled. "So we were looking, and we got hungry, and—"

"You ended up in my pantry," Bilbo said with a slight smile, to show him that he wasn't angry. "Why did you choose my apartment, anyway?"

"We saw your plants," Kíli said. "But I don't like tomatoes."

"The ones on the fire escape?" He'd planted a mini-garden outside his window a few years back, with some cherry tomatoes and basil that he sometimes used for cooking. It wasn't enough to sustain him, unfortunately, but it was more of a hobby that anything.

"We thought you might have snacks inside," Kíli said, averting his eyes.

"You climbed up the outside, then." That explained why they hadn't known where the stairs were. "Well, you're both growing boys, and you can't just be living on chips and cookies." He took out a couple of bowls and spooned out some soup, making sure to save a little for himself.

The next few minutes passed in complete silence, save for the slurping noises as the boys practically inhaled their food. Bilbo bent down to scoop up the mess of wrappers on the floor, and glanced into his pantry with a frown. His usual amount of scavenged food wouldn't do, not if he was going to be cooking for three now—

_Where on earth did that come from? _He didn't know anything about these boys, or whether taking them in would even be feasible. But he cut off his doubts before they could take root. There was absolutely no way he could turn two children away from his door to face starvation or, even worse, another attack from one of the dead.

That settled it, then.

Bilbo stood and turned to face his guests. Their bowls were already empty, and Kíli had his bowl up to his face and was unabashedly licking the bottom, though he froze when he realized Bilbo was looking. Fíli muttered something under his breath and pushed the bowl back onto the table.

A little bloom of fondness appeared in his chest at the sight. The boys clearly had manners, foam darts notwithstanding.

"You're welcome to stay here," he said. "You would have food, and you would be safe, as long as you don't open the door at the end of the hall."

Kíli looked at his brother, who shifted in his seat. Bilbo suppressed another grimace. Fíli was far too young to be having to make these kinds of decisions, and to be the sole caretaker of someone even younger. He wanted nothing more than to take that burden from his shoulders, but that would require trust on the boy's part.

"We were going to our uncle's house," Fíli said, shifting again as though he were about to stand. "Maybe our parents went there."

"Well, that's certainly another option as well." Bilbo nodded. Rather silly of him, to think of taking them in when there was the possibility their parents were still out there. "And where is your uncle's house?"

"In the city," Kíli replied. "One of the 'partments."

"The city?" Bilbo schooled his face into a more neutral expression. The city streets were crawling with the dead. If their parents had ended up there, they were likely dead or trapped. "We...We'll have to see about that."

Fíli's brows drew together. "We're going to our uncle's house."

He opened his mouth, several arguments and warnings running through his head, but stopped himself once more. He'd known Fíli for less than an hour, but it was clear he was a scrappy young boy who was prepared to do just about anything to get himself and his brother back to their family. Any warnings he would give might just result in the two of them climbing back down the fire escape in the middle of the night.

"If that's the case," Bilbo finally said, choosing his words carefully, "then we'd best take my car. We'll be able to get there faster, and it will be much safer. How does that sound?"

Kíli brightened at that, and Fíli relaxed a little.

Bilbo glanced out the window. Orange light was spilling onto the dining room table. It would be no good going into the city now—the only thing that terrified him more than running into a dead person was running into one at night.

And there was a good deal besides that to think about.

"We'll talk about it more tomorrow," he said. "I think you both deserve a good night's rest." He leaned over to take their empty bowls, then realized he had made nothing for himself. "I think I might make myself some pasta. Would you like some as well?"

They nodded, and Bilbo smiled slightly as he turned to heat up some water. It was nice to be cooking for others again. Obviously none of his friends and family had come to visit since the world had ended, and even before, visits had been few and far between.

Since the phones had gone down, and the frantic calls had stopped, Bilbo couldn't really remember the last time he had talked to anyone.

Not that it would have been much better had he ventured to find companionship. The dead weren't the only ones killing people. The bodies left with bullet holes instead of bite marks had told him as much on the occasion that he found one during one of his supply runs.

He glanced at Fíli and Kíli. That two boys could have been alone in that mess was unthinkable. "I hope you haven't had any trouble, out there on your own."

The crackle of the pasta package being opened broke through the silence like a firecracker, and Bilbo wondered if he should have said anything at all.

"We had trouble." Fíli poked his dart gun, sounding as if that should have been obvious.

"I-I meant with anyone who might have wanted to hurt you." He bit the inside of his lip. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"Nobody ever hurt us," he said, his gaze falling to the table. Kíli, too, had gained a distant look in his eyes. Even if that was true, Bilbo supposed it was too much to ask for that they hadn't _seen_ something they didn't want to talk about.

"Well, that is good to hear. I would feel terrible if something had happened." He went to stir the pasta into the boiling water, then glanced back at them. "And I will do whatever I can to help you find your family."

He meant it, but the magnitude of what he had said didn't hit him until later. They ate in silence, and Bilbo offered them the big bed in his room (though he insisted that they wash up first).

After they'd settled down, he made himself comfortable on the couch. As the house fell silent, and he had only the ceiling to stare at, his thoughts came flooding in once more.

He'd made a commitment to those two boys, not just with food and shelter, but with the promise to go out with them in search of more than just canned goods at the back of a grocery store.

Bilbo didn't know if they'd ever find the boys' parents or uncle. But the events of the day had made it clear that it wasn't possible to simply sit in his home and wait this out.

He turned his head and stared at the moonlight redness of the tomato plant outside his window.

It was a long while before he eventually found sleep.

**Yeah, the title is a reference to "the new world's gonna need Rick Grimes" :) After years of being a useless zombiephile, I finally decided to do something about it and wrote this down. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please leave a comment if you'd like me to continue!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When Bilbo woke the next morning, Fíli and Kíli were already sitting in the kitchen, looking rather restless. They glanced up as he entered, and stared at him silently.

"Would you two like some breakfast?" he asked, stretching as he walked over to the pantry. He already guessed the answer to that question, given the way Fíli's eyes kept darting over to the cabinets. It seemed they'd decided to wait for his permission this time before partaking in any of his food. "How does oatmeal sound?"

"I don't like oatmeal," Kíli said, and Fíli shushed him.

"That's quite alright," Bilbo started digging around in his pantry. "I have some granola bars in here. And…" Not much else that would count as breakfast food, actually. "Hmm."

Fíli whispered something to his brother, who then said, "Can I have a granola bar, please?"

"Of course." He gave a couple to Kíli. "And what about you, Fíli?"

He folded his arms on the table, looking slightly more relaxed. "I'll have some oatmeal."

Bilbo set to work boiling some water, and took out the container. After a moment's consideration, he retrieved the brown sugar as well. He only had a little left, but there was only so much good that would come from hoarding what food he had. At this rate, he would likely have to go on much longer runs to get enough food to support three people.

"Are we going to go find my uncle today?" Kíli asked, already unwrapping the second granola bar.

Right. That. Bilbo took a deep breath. He couldn't put this conversation off for much longer. "Well, if we're going into the city, then we're going to need a plan. Where does your uncle live, exactly?"

"In the city," Kíli repeated, as though that should have been enough to go on.

He turned around to look at them, but Fíli just shrugged.

"We're going to have to figure out something more specific than that if I'm going to take you two there." He added some oatmeal to the pot. "We'll look at the map of the city together and see if we can't find his apartment on there."

And after breakfast, that was just what they did. Bilbo was a bit of a maps enthusiast, and though most of his collection was of faraway places or kingdoms back in the Second Age, he did have one of the city. There were already a few circles and notes there, marking down the locations of his favorite restaurants or food trucks.

"Alright, then." He spread the map out on the coffee table. "Do you think you could show me where your uncle lives?"

Fíli frowned down at the map, while Kíli appeared to be distracted by something outside the window.

"Do you have an address, perhaps?" Bilbo frowned. It was possible the boys had no idea at all how to find the place on this map, especially now that people were more inclined to use GPS. "Does any of this look familiar to you?"

"I-I don't know," Fíli said, his voice wavering a little.

A part of him reasoned that perhaps that was a good thing. If they couldn't find _where_ to go in the city, then Bilbo could possibly persuade them not to go at all. He would have to tell them eventually that almost everyone in the city had either fled or was now dead or...worse.

But then he looked up and saw Fíli's chin wobble, and decided anything short of trying would be letting the boys down. "Do you remember anything close by? A big building, or a park? Somewhere you went to eat?"

"We went to a park," Kíli said.

Bilbo scanned the map, noting the half-dozen parks within the city. Fíli caught on and knelt down, leaning his elbows on the coffee table as he began searching as well. "And what did you do while you were there?"

"We went on the swings, and we got ice cream." Kíli tilted his head. "And we saw some ducks."

"That one." Fíli jabbed his finger at a small green rectangle with a blue blob representing a lake.

"Very good," Bilbo said, though he noticed with some chagrin that the park was near the center of the city. "And how far away was your uncle's apartment from there?"

The brothers exchanged a rather blank look.

"Uh, how many times did you have to cross the street?"

"Two or three?" Fíli shrugged.

That would have to be good enough for now. Bilbo took a pen and drew a circle in a three-block radius around the park. "Anything else you can give me?"

Fíli continued studying the map, then his eyes widened in recognition. "Silver Street. I think it's on Silver Street."

Bilbo found it on the map and traced the section within the circle he'd drawn. He sat back and said, "Well, I think that's as close as we can get until we actually drive down there." They would have to go around the south edge of the city, then back up and through the east end to get to the apartment. It would take a bit longer, but hopefully would allow them to spend the least amount of time inside.

"Can we go now?" Kíli asked.

It was the middle of the day, the weather was clear, and Bilbo could think of no reason why not except for the possible threat of them being eaten alive. But that didn't seem as though it was going to resolve itself any time soon.

"All right." He stood up. "You both have everything you need?"

Kíli nodded, and Fíli ran to the kitchen to collect his dart gun. They didn't have backpacks or anything, Bilbo remembered. They'd truly come into his apartment with nothing, and he dreaded to think what might have happened if he hadn't taken them in.

He went to collect his jacket from where he'd left it on one of the kitchen chairs. Fíli was dutifully loading his dart gun, which had a revolver-like cylinder to store six foam bullets. Bilbo remembered his own gun and retrieved it from the top of the fridge.

Kíli was waiting for them at the door, excitement shining on his face. Fíli seemed to carry a similar feeling as they set off down the hallway, though his bordered more on anxiety.

"Stairs are on the left," Bilbo reminded them as they neared the end of the hallway. At the sound of their footsteps, Mrs Greenfield began her scratching and growling on the other side of the door. Fíli flinched away, but Bilbo put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's all right. She can't hurt you."

The tension eased somewhat as they reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped out into the sunlight. It really was a beautiful day, warm but not too hot. Bilbo wondered how the sky could look that blue after the world had ended.

When they reached the car, the brothers both climbed into the back seat. Bilbo turned the key in the ignition and checked the gas—half a tank would be enough to get them to the apartment and back.

He glanced in the rearview mirror at the boys. Kíli looked rather small in the seat, and he wondered for a moment if he should have gotten a phonebook or something for him to sit on.

"Now," he said as he began pulling out of the parking lot, "the city is said to be quite dangerous. Apparently there are quite a few dead ones roaming about, so the both of you must be absolutely careful. Keep the car doors locked until I say otherwise. In fact, you must do exactly as I say. Understood?"

They both nodded. The boys really were rather well-behaved, and he wasn't sure whether to attribute it to fear of the recent apocalypse or good parenting from whoever had raised them.

Thinking about their parents brought an uncomfortable ache to his chest, however, and he tried his best to keep his focus on the road.

The drive to the city was easy enough. It was rather eerie, actually, how one side of the highway was entirely empty while the lanes leading away from the city were packed with vacant cars.

Up ahead, two dark figures stood out against the sun-bleached pavement, and Bilbo tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he recognized the shuffling gait. They lurched towards the car as it drove past, and soon they were nothing more than dark specks in the rearview mirror.

Kíli was craning his neck to try and get a look at them through the back window. "Why are they like that?"

"It's some sort of disease, I believe," Bilbo said. "They are sick, and I-I don't think they can be cured. You know not to let them bite you, yes?"

Fíli nodded, his expression darkening, and Kíli asked, "What happens if they bite you?"

"Then you will get sick as well, and turn into one of them." He didn't know if this was the appropriate sort of thing to be telling a child, especially one as young as Kíli, but there was no point in hiding the truth from them. "Those things might look human, but they are very dangerous, all right?"

Behind him, he heard the _pop_ of one of Fíli's darts being fired against the back of the seat.

As they approached the city proper, the buildings around them grew taller, and Bilbo couldn't help but think of a row of teeth in the jaw of some giant beast.

The streets here were empty, too, save the occasional parked car and a mess of scattered, faded newspapers. Bilbo resisted the urge to slow down—his old car engine wouldn't do much in the way of stealth, and their best option was to get in and out as fast as possible.

"This look familiar to you?" he asked as the silence in the car became oppressive.

"Um…" Both boys sat up to peer out the windows.

Bilbo checked the map spread out in the passenger seat. They weren't far from the stretch of road where the apartment was supposed to be, and things had been quiet so far. Perhaps the city had emptied of the dead, and they'd all gone elsewhere in search of food, just like the living.

"Look!" Kíli shouted, making him jump. "Something moved!"

He glanced the way he was pointing. There was a dead one lurching around in one of the side streets.

"It's all right," he said, speeding the car up again. "Stay away from the windows, now."

As they continued, the remains of what must have been chaos came into view. There were broken pieces of barricades scattered about, and a couple cars caved in and charred black from explosives. Bilbo caught a glimpse of a broken helicopter blade down one of the side streets.

"_Help_!"

A ragged cry nearly made him slam on the brakes. Fíli and Kíli moved up, sticking their heads into the gap between the seats to get a better look at the figure limping down the street.

The man looked as if he could barely stand. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, and his clothing was so dirty and ragged he could have passed for one of the dead. But the dead didn't speak.

Holding his breath, Bilbo inched the car forward. A dark red stain marked the man's shoulder, which could mean any number of things. He reached over to lock the car doors.

"Help me, please…" The man staggered and braced one hand against the brick wall of a corner store.

"Are you gonna help him?" Fíli asked, though the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

Something moved behind the man. Before he could react, a pair of rotting hands clamped down on his shoulders.

Bilbo cried out in warning, but there was nothing anyone could do as the corpse sunk its teeth into the back of the man's neck. He let out a hoarse scream and tried to pull away, only to collapse on the sidewalk. The corpse fell on top of him.

"Oh my god." Bilbo felt a chill pass through him, his knuckles going white against the steering wheel. Behind him, Kíli let out a whimper. That was enough to spur him back into action, and he pressed down on the accelerator.

The man's agonized cries echoed through the street. The monster's head jerked as it tore away a piece of flesh from his back.

"Don't look, don't look, all right? Don't look at it." Bilbo sped up as they passed the pair, speaking to himself as much as the boys in the backseat.

Breathing hard, he turned onto the next street. They were nearly there. He glanced at the rearview mirror. Fíli was sitting back against the seat again, holding Kíli against him with one arm. The younger boy's eyes were wide, his expression more horrified than Bilbo ever wanted to see. He considered asking if they were alright, but there was no real point in asking such a thing.

Instead, he made another turn and said, "We're getting close, now. Do you think you could help me look for the apartment?"

Fíli scooted closer to the side window, pulling his brother with him. "I don't see it."

"Does any of this look familiar to you?" Bilbo checked the map. They were only a couple blocks away from Silver Street. His heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his temples. The growling of the dead still echoed in his ears.

He was halfway through the intersection when Fíli let out a cry. Bilbo turned his head so fast his neck hurt, and his stomach dropped at what he saw.

More than a hundred dead were crowding the street to the left. They had already seen the car—perhaps heard the engine even before they came into sight—and more of them were stumbling in their direction.

Bilbo swore and sped them the rest of the way across the intersection. There were a half dozen dead at the end of the street, but he only pressed harder on the pedal. The car slammed into two of them, throwing their heavy bodies against the windshield. Kíli let out a small scream at the noise.

He grit his teeth as they slid off the car, thankful the glass hadn't broken. They reached Silver Street, but another crowd of the dead was waiting for them on the left. One of them lurched forward and threw itself against the driver's door with a growl. Bilbo jumped away with a shout, but it only pawed ineffectually against the glass, its grimy hands leaving long, red-tinged fingerprints.

More of them swarmed behind the car, bumping into the trunk and shaking the entire vehicle. In the backseat, Kíli started crying, and Fíli was trying to console him between panicked breaths.

Bilbo gripped the steering wheel and swallowed against the nausea rising in his gut. The dead had surrounded the car entirely, filling the tiny space with a chorus of growls and haphazard thumps. They blocked the windows, casting shifting shadows over the interior.

He turned back to look at the boys. "Get down on the floor. I'm going to get us out of here, all right?" He waited until Fíli met his eyes, then said, "We're going to be fine."

Whether that was the truth was another question, but he wasn't about to have them be any more afraid than they already were. Bilbo turned back around and slammed his foot on the gas pedal. The car lurched forward into the crowd. Some of the dead fell onto the hood, while others were pushed underneath.

He kept going, barely hearing the thudding of the bodies over the ringing in his ears. He prayed his tires wouldn't get caught amidst the corpses on the ground, or that he would accidentally drive into a streetlight, since he could barely see anything beyond the shifting mass of bodies.

The grimy sign for Silver Street flashed by as he made another turn and finally managed to drive clear of the crowd. He heard a _crack_ that sounded suspiciously like a bone breaking beneath his tire, and fought back another wave of nausea. The horde behind him roared and clawed at his trunk, but they soon fell behind as he flew down the street.

As the streets became empty once more, a ringing silence fell on the car. Kíli was still sniffling in the backseat, and Fíli had gone completely quiet.

Bilbo didn't dare speak. He steered the car out of the city and back along the road to his apartment, nearly in a trance. Once he caught himself using his blinker, and didn't quite know what to think of it.

He pulled into his usual space in the parking lot and sat completely still for a moment. His heart was still pounding. He opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut again as his stomach turned violently.

There was no way he could take care of the boys if he could barely function himself. Bilbo closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths, then managed a, "Come on," and stepped out of the car.

His bumper and hood were dented in several places, and the whole thing was smeared with dirt and blood and other things he couldn't even begin to identify. He turned away, feeling dizzy, and led the boys back up to his apartment.

As soon as he opened the door, Kíli rushed past him and made a beeline for the room he shared with his brother. The door slammed shut. Fíli followed him at a more sedate pace, not bothering to look back at Bilbo as he entered the bedroom.

Feeling numb, Bilbo went to the kitchen and filled up a glass of water from the sink. It had only barely touched his lips before he put it down again and was dry heaving over the sink. Once that had subsided, he leaned his elbows against the counter and put his face in his hands.

He never should have taken them into the city. The kids hadn't known any better—they'd only wanted to find their family. But he had seen the news reports, listened to the radio during those final days. He should have known those hellish streets were no place for a couple of children.

Bilbo took a couple more minutes to gather himself, then walked over to the bedroom door and cracked it open. The brothers were sitting on the bed, and Fíli had his arms wrapped around Kíli's shoulders as his shoulders shook with small sobs. The sight made something in his chest tighten, and only added to the guilt churning in his gut.

He opened the door the rest of the way and walked into the room. Fíli shot him a look that might have been a glare, but didn't protest as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"I believe I owe you an apology. The both of you," Bilbo said softly.

Kíli lifted his head to look at him, a few strands of messy brown hair sticking to his tear-stained cheeks. Fíli kept frowning at the opposite wall.

Gathering his courage, he continued, "I should have known better than to take you into the city. And I am so sorry for putting you both in danger like that."

"S'okay," Kíli mumbled.

"No, it's really not. It was a serious mistake on my part, and I promise I'll never do something like that again." Having Kíli's forgiveness was all well and good, but that wasn't what he was really concerned about. He glanced at Fíli, who hadn't so much as twitched an eyebrow. "I-I'll just leave you alone for now, shall I?"

Neither brother responded, so he stood up and made his way towards the door. Given the past events of the day, he couldn't expect himself to be a comforting presence for the two.

Bilbo paused for a moment in the doorway, trying to think of something else to say, but there was really nothing to be said. He turned away and closed the door with a soft _click_.

* * *

It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that a nightmare interrupted his sleep.

He sat up, breathing hard, and tried his best to blink away visions of rotting hands clawing at him, a growling maw bending down to sink its teeth into his flesh—

Bilbo pushed himself up from the couch and made his way to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He hadn't had nightmares this bad since the outbreak had first started.

No doubt the boys hadn't slept well either. He dried his face and went to the bedroom door, opening it as quietly as he could. Kíli was fast asleep in the center of the bed, his small form dwarfed by the large blanket, but…

He opened the door wider and scanned the room, but there was no sign of Fíli anywhere. He couldn't be in the bathroom, and Bilbo highly doubted he would run away without his brother.

Heartbeat drumming in his ears, Bilbo closed the door again and began checking the rest of the house, stopping first by the pantry, then the office, then the bathroom.

It wasn't until he reached the living room again that he caught a glint of blond hair outside the window. He walked over and found Fíli sitting on the fire escape, knees drawn up to his chest.

He looked up as Bilbo pushed the window open, then turned away again as he climbed through the window and sat down next to him.

"Are you angry with me?" Bilbo asked.

Fíli bunched up his shoulders around his ears, then let them fall again.

"I wouldn't blame you if you were." He tried for a smile, but it ended up looking like a grimace. What he feared more than a hundred dreams of walking corpses was the possibility that Fíli didn't feel safe around him anymore, and that he would leave with his brother and the two of them would be alone again in this awful world. Even worse was the knowledge that it would be entirely Bilbo's fault.

"We were supposed to find my uncle," Fíli said, his voice raspy.

"Yes," he said, relieved that he was at least talking to him. "I'm sorry we couldn't make it there."

"What if he…" His voice wavered. "What if he turned into one of those...things?"

"No, no." Bilbo hesitated, then reached out and placed a comforting hand on his back. "I'm sure that's not the case. If he is anything like you and your brother, then I'm sure he was smart enough to get out of the city before it was overrun."

Fíli finally turned to look at him, tears welling in his eyes. "H-How are we gonna find him? And my parents?"

"Well." He didn't really have an answer to that. "I'm sure something like that will be much easier once this whole thing gets sorted out. The military will come in and clear up the city, get the phone lines back up, and then we'll get in touch with your family. All right?"

He sniffled and nodded.

"In the meantime, you are perfectly welcome to stay here. I-If you'll give me a second chance, I'll keep you both safe."

"Okay." Fíli bowed his head, tears finally dripping down his cheeks.

At this, it felt as if someone had deflated the bubble of anxiety in his chest. He scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Fíli's shoulders. "You're going to be all right. You mustn't give up hope, now."

Hope was something Bilbo had given up a few weeks after the radio had gone silent. But he wasn't living in isolation anymore, and he couldn't just think of himself. It wouldn't do to live in resignation that the world had ended for good.

For the sake of these two boys, he would have to give hope another try.

**So my younger siblings are in high school and I rarely interact with little kids, so if I get the dialogue/behavior wrong of a 12 and/or 7 year old please let me know!**

**Also, I don't really write in the horror genre but I hope this came across as actually scary. I know I probably scared Fili and Kili...sorry about that...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Then you fold it like so, and crease it right here, and…" Bilbo held up the piece of paper and spread its little folded wings. "There you have it: an origami dragon."

Fíli frowned and held up his own dragon, which looked a bit more like a lopsided raptor. "I don't think I did this right."

Kíli, who had long since given up any sort of advanced folding, held up his seventh paper airplane and launched it at his brother's head.

"Hey!" Fíli crumpled up his dragon-raptor, hitting him square on the nose with it. They both leapt up and began running around the room, throwing whatever they could find at the other.

Bilbo smiled and sat back, though he kept a close eye to make sure they didn't throw anything particularly dangerous. It was nice to see them laughing and having fun. It had taken them a couple weeks to finally warm up to living in the apartment, and for all three of them to stop having nightmares from their trip into the city.

Now that they were acting their age again, he had become particularly aware of the fact that his apartment was not exactly meant for children. He had been the last one to grow up here, and all of his childhood toys had been sold or given away years ago. There was only so much time the boys could spend reading books or playing with his excess of printer paper.

He reached over and closed the origami book, then went to put it back on its proper place on the shelf. A lack of entertainment they could live without, but they were running low on food, too. He'd been putting off going out for fear of leaving the boys alone, but they only had a day or two before they would run out entirely.

"Boys?" Bilbo walked into the bedroom, where the two of them were jumping on the bed and whacking each other with pillows. "We're running low on food, so I—"

Fíli swung a pillow at his brother and it burst upon impact, sending a cloud of feathers fluttering down over the comforter. Kíli fell on his back, giggling, and Bilbo winced as he narrowly missed cracking his skull against the headboard.

Still holding the empty pillowcase, Fíli turned to Bilbo, his smile wavering. "Sorry…"

"That's...That's quite all right." Once, he would have been very upset, since those were rather expensive down pillows, but the end of the world had taught him that there were more important things in life. "I'm going out to find some more food. I shouldn't be more than a few hours, but if you could both straighten up while I'm gone," he gestured to the mess of feathers, "that would be much appreciated."

Fíli nodded and knelt down to scoop up the mess, gesturing for his brother to do the same. Kíli sat up and spat a mouthful of feathers at him.

Bilbo smiled and shook his head. "I'll leave you to it, then." He gathered his gun, his key, and his map from the kitchen, then headed down to his car.

His tank was nearly empty, and he tapped the meter with a frown. Gas had been getting particularly hard to find, and the last thing he wanted was to run out entirely and be stranded two towns over.

Though it seemed he would be going farther than that. Bilbo checked his map, where he'd already marked off all the areas he'd been to, and let out a grumble. Moving somewhere else was becoming less of a possibility and more of an inevitability, and he didn't even want to think about how that would work now that he had two children in his care.

That, Bilbo decided as he spend down the highway, was a question for another day.

* * *

It had taken a couple hours of searching, but Bilbo had managed to find a gas station with enough left to get him back up to half a tank. Not only that, but he'd dug through the storage room in the back of a grocery store and managed to find a whole unopened box of beans, as well as a few individual boxes of pasta.

The find had left him in good spirits, and he hummed a little tune as he deposited the food in his trunk and pushed it closed. The sun was getting closer to the horizon, and he had no doubt the boys were hungry and waiting for him.

Bilbo had his hand on the car door when a voice made him jump: "Oi!"

He turned to the other end of the parking lot, where three men—three rather _large_ men—were coming towards him.

"You know if there's anything in there?" The one who had spoken gestured towards the grocery store.

"Uh, n-not much of value." Bilbo kept a hand on the door, considering the gun in his pocket. "Some paper towels, a few bags of flour."

"Yeah?" The three men continued their advance. They walked with loose arms and broad shoulders, like a group of bullies from the local school. "You got a camp or something? People you've been staying with?"

"No." Heis free hand crept into his pocket, fingers closing around the handle of his gun. His palms were already sweating. "I've just been traveling on my own."

They exchanged glances, and Bilbo clenched his jaw. "Well," the apparent leader of the group said, "we'll let you be on your way. You find any food, save some for us, eh?" He winked.

Bilbo nodded jerkily and slipped into his car, locking the doors immediately. He drove across the parking lot as quickly as he could, watching the men so closely in his rearview mirror that he nearly drove up onto the curb. Before he pulled onto the road, he saw them climbing into their own vehicle.

"_Shit_." He pressed hard on the gas pedal and took off down the road. There was always the chance he was being paranoid, but he couldn't afford to take chances. Whatever happened, he was _not_ going to lead a group of dangerous men back to Fíli and Kíli.

He had to go north to get back home, but he took the highway east, hoping to throw them off his trail. The sun cast long shadows over the road, but he kept his lights off. Perhaps he'd find a quiet neighborhood with lots of winding streets and lose them there. Or, if things got particularly desperate, he'd bury his car in another crowd of dead people. The thought made him shudder.

The sun glinted more than once off the windows of the car pursuing him, though they stayed far enough behind that he lost sight of them more than once. Bilbo tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, muttering curses under his breath that would have made his father blanch. An irritated sort of anger was building beneath his sternum. A bunch of mindless dead people he could handle to a certain extent, but who were these men to try and stalk him and rob him of his food? He had children to get back home to, and it was absolutely inconvenient that he had to stop and throw off a bunch of robbers.

He took the next exit and sped up almost dangerously, determined to lose them as soon as possible. A sign on the right advertised one Wesley Street, and he turned into the small development.

It was quiet, shaded with trees that only allowed a few slivers of orange sunlight to illuminate the road. Bilbo picked a house a little ways down the street and drove up into the driveway, then steered around the house and parked his car there. A plastic lawn chair tumbled away upon impact with his bumper, and he silently apologized to whoever owned the house (and hoped they weren't currently in it).

Heart pounding, he turned the engine off and climbed out, creeping over to the corner of the house. He waited in silence, eyes and ears on high alert for another vehicle down the road.

Several minutes ticked by, and he heard nothing but the rustle of tree leaves. It was quite possible he'd successfully lost the men—none of them had seemed terribly bright.

Or perhaps they were lying in wait at the end of the road, ready to spring a trap on him and steal his car and everything inside it.

He stayed crouched at the corner of the house, fear and uncertainty keeping him frozen. It wasn't until it was almost completely dark that he reasoned it would be worse for Fíli and Kíli if he kept them waiting any longer, and besides, he did have a gun if things went wrong.

Bilbo crept back over to his car and turned it on, then drove back down the driveway and onto the road. Each movement in the shadows set him further on edge, but there were no cars lying in wait as he drove back out of the development.

He waited until he was back on the highway to turn on his headlights, and then drove a little faster than he was comfortable back to the apartment.

A dozen different apologies were running through his mind when he finally pulled into the parking lot, but they were soon forgotten as he spotted a strange white shape soar through the air before disappearing behind a row of bushes.

"What on earth…" He stopped the car and stepped out, leaving the food for now as he went to investigate.

There was a small patio on one side of the building, bordered by bushes for some semblance of privacy, and it was here that he found Fíli and Kíli.

"Ready?" Fíli called from the patio, dribbling a soccer ball with both feet.

Grinning, Kíli ran backwards, stopping a few feet away from a small grove of trees near the apartment building. Fíli kicked the ball as hard as he could and his brother lifted his hands to catch it, but it soared over his head and into the trees.

Bilbo put his hands on his hips, torn between feeling annoyed at their irresponsibility and guilty at his own. "Having fun, are we?"

"Um." Fíli looked at him and froze. It was quite clear he knew he had done something wrong. "We were just..."

"I'll go get the ball," Kíli said, probably as an excuse to flee the tense moment, and sprinted into the trees.

"Look," Bilbo said, walking closer to the elder. "I know I came back much later than I said I would, but that doesn't mean the two of you can leave the apartment."

"We weren't gonna go far," Fíli said with a shrug.

"Yes, well, if something were to—"

Kíli let out a scream. Bilbo and Fíli both jumped at the noise and ran for the trees. A moment later, the boy burst from the undergrowth, the soccer ball clutched between his hands. One of the dead lurched after him, clumsily reaching for the back of his shirt.

The soccer ball slipped from between Kíli's hands, and he tripped over it as it hit the ground. The corpse growled and lunged for him.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Bilbo threw all of his weight forward, ramming his shoulder into the monster's chest. His momentum sent both of them toppling to the ground.

"Get inside!" he shouted to the boys as Fíli rushed to help his brother up. "_Now!_"

The corpse let out another growl, and Bilbo almost gagged as its rotten breath washed over his face. He pushed himself away and tried to stand up, but its hands closed around his leg, pulling him down again. He let out a yell and kicked as hard as he could, striking its jaw.

It took a couple more kicks to finally get himself loose. He scooted away on the damp grass, breathing hard. The corpse rolled onto its stomach and pawed at the grass. Bilbo didn't know if it was able to stand, and wasn't willing to find out. He pushed himself to his feet and glanced towards the building. Fíli and Kíli were waiting just inside the glass door, watching him with wide eyes. He made a gesture that plainly meant _Get upstairs_, and the two fled down the hallway.

Bilbo managed to make it back to his car on unsteady legs, then collapsed in the driver's seat. He sat there for a moment and just breathed, letting the adrenaline of the moment fizzle out. And though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he bent down and rolled up his pants. The skin there was clear, not so much as a scratch marring the surface.

He let out a sigh of relief and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel.

_Not dead yet_.

As much as he would have liked to sit there for another twenty minutes, he had some food to bring in...and a couple of boys to scold.

Fíli and Kíli were in the the living room when he walked in. They stared at him, standing stiffly, and made no move to help as he set the box of food on the kitchen table.

Bilbo turned back to them and sighed, resting one arm on the doorframe. He really didn't want to do this, but they could have died. Poor Kíli had been inches away from being bit. The memory, the image of him struggling on the ground as a walking corpse loomed over him, was enough to tear his words from his throat.

"I-I don't know what you two were thinking. I really don't. I thought you would have realized by now that it's not _safe_ to be outside on your own!"

He couldn't see much in the dimness of the room, but Kíli looked as if he were trying to hold back tears.

"Why on earth did you go outside in the first place?"

"We got bored," Fíli said, his jaw stiff. "We didn't know when you were coming back."

"Well, I honestly expected better from you. Look at what almost happened to your brother," he gestured to Kíli, who was clutching his brother's sweater in one hand. "As much as I'd like to, I can't be there for you every second of the day, and when I'm not, it's up to you to keep him safe!"

Fíli bowed his head. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice wavering.

Bilbo sighed, his shoulders slumping. That was about all the anger he had reserved for today. He walked over to his armchair and sat down, looking up at them. "I just don't want anything bad to happen. To either of you. A-And this is all new to me. I don't have children of my own, and I've never done anything like this before. But we'll figure this out, all right? Just promise me you'll be smart about this."

They both nodded and sniffled.

"Good." He stood up, and Kíli stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his waist. He stiffened in shock for a moment, then wrapped one arm around him. With the other, he reached over to squeeze Fíli's shoulder. "Now, I don't know about you two, but I'd rather like some dinner right now."

As if to prove his point, his stomach gave a low grumble, and Kíli gave a watery snicker.

Smiling, he released him and headed for the kitchen. "I hope you both like beans."

* * *

Bilbo folded his hands on the kitchen table. "There's something I want to discuss with you both. This is by no means something you're obligated to do, but I thought I'd bring it up."

It had now been a month since Fíli and Kíli had been staying with him, and he could tell they were both getting restless. They had been very conscientious about obeying his rule about staying inside, but there was only so much entertainment they could get from kicking the soccer ball up and down the hall or throwing paper airplanes off the fire escape.

"I need to go out to get food again, and I was wondering if you two would feel comfortable coming with me," he said, searching both their faces. "We could try and find you some toys and clothes while we're out. And I'd be able to keep a closer eye on you."

Kíli rested his elbows on the table with a frown. "Will we run into monsters again?"

"I-I can't promise that we won't." In truth, there were a lot of risks associated with bringing them outside. There were the dead, and even worse, the threat of men like the ones that had followed him a couple weeks ago.

"We know how to hide if there's bad men," Fíli said, straightening up. "We've done it before."

"Yes, well, hopefully we won't run into anyone. It certainly won't be as bad as the city. And you'll have me to look out for you. I just thought it would be good for the two of you to get out of the apartment."

Both of them brightened at that, and their cheer continued all the way down to the car once they'd agreed to go.

"I can't make any promises, but what sort of toys would you like to get?" Bilbo asked as he sat in the driver's seat.

Kíli immediately started rattling off about some Lego set he'd seen on TV and all the different things you could build with it. Bilbo had no idea what he was talking about, having been more of a bookish child himself, but seeing the boy happy and excited was enough to make him smile.

Forty-five minutes later, they were pulling up to a strip mall, which had a toy store, a clothing outlet, and a small grocery store among other establishments. Bilbo decided to stop at the former first, so the boys would at least have something to entertain themselves with while he checked out the other places.

There were half a dozen cars scattered about the parking lot, and he eyed each of them warily, but they all appeared empty and broken down.

"All right," he said, pulling to a stop. "I'm going to go in alone and check out the store, make sure it's safe. I want you two to hide down there in the back—I'll crack the windows since it is rather warm—and I'll come back and get you once I'm done."

"What if something goes wrong?" Fíli asked.

"Um." Bilbo shifted at the rather nebulous question. There were quite a lot of things that could go wrong, and he didn't have a plan for every single one of them. "Whatever you do, do not come out unless I say so. And...i-it'll be all right."

For a moment, he wondered if what he was doing was unnecessarily risky, if he was about to put the boys in danger. But driving them back would be a waste of time and gas, and it wouldn't do them any good to be cooped up in an apartment for...however long this apocalypse was supposed to take.

"Be good, the both of you," Bilbo said, then climbed out of the car. He watched them crouch down on the floor between the seats, then turned and headed for the toy store.

It was cool and dim inside, and eerily quiet. He found a few packages of candy behind the registers, and pocketed them to give to the boys later.

All things considered, the store wasn't as barren as some of the other's he'd been to. He supposed action figures and toy dolls weren't the most essential survival tools.

The aisles were all empty, save a few scattered packages, some strange scorch marks, and a particularly nasty-looking bloodstain that stretched down the aisle.

He took a moment to check the storage room in the back and the employee section off to the side, but those were both empty as well (though he was disappointed to find the vending machines in the employee lounge had been smashed and ransacked).

With that out of the way, Bilbo made his way back towards the entrance, excited to tell Fíli about a board game he'd found and Kíli that there were certainly Legos in the store, though he had no idea which one he wanted in particular.

He stepped outside, blinking at the sunlight after spending so long in the store's dim interior. As his vision adjusted, he could make out a man walking a few feet away. His heart stuttered.

There was a stranger walking across the parking lot, and his gaze was locked onto Bilbo's car.

As if that wasn't bad enough, Fíli and Kíli were in full view, sitting back on the seats and locked in some sort of heated argument.

That was all he had time to absorb before adrenaline pushed him into action. The man hadn't seen him yet, so Bilbo took a step forward, scrambling for some sort of plan. He wouldn't be able to overpower him even if he were to surprise him—the man was much taller than him, and his muscles showed through his dark shirt.

Without quite knowing what he was doing, he pulled the gun from his pocket and pointed it at the man. "Stop!"

The man started at the sound of his voice, hand reaching for the gun at his hip. The sight sent a spike of fear through him. If this man managed to kill him, there was no telling what he would do to Fíli and Kíli.

Half-instinctively, he pulled the trigger.

His gun let out a tiny _click_, and nothing more.

Seeing that his gun wouldn't fire, the man pulled out his own weapon and aimed it at Bilbo. He took a few steps forward, his arm steady, and there was no doubt in Bilbo's mind that this man knew how to fire a gun and would not hesitate to do so.

Nevertheless, he kept his own weapon level, or as much as he could with his shaking arms. At the very least, the man's focus was off Fíli and Kíli for now. "S-Stay back. Don't you dare go near them."

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't put a bullet through you." The man's voice was harsh, the lines of anger on his face clear.

The car door opened, and Fíli stumbled out. "Wait!"

_No, no, Fíli you fool, get back in the car_. Bilbo waited with a clenched jaw as the boy began running towards them.

"It's okay! Don't shoot!" He broke into a run, and a moment later, Kíli jumped out of the car as well. "He's not a bad man, Uncle Thorin. It's okay."

**There he is! I've been kind of weighing this plot-wise, but would you guys be interested in seeing some scenes from Thorin's POV? Let me know.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Uncle?_ Bilbo lowered his gun as Fíli stopped next to the man, who put a protective hand on his shoulder.

Kíli stopped on his other side. "Fíli's right. He's not a bad man."

The man, apparently named Thorin, looked back at Bilbo, eyes narrowed in suspicion. The gun was still aimed at his head.

Well, one of them was going to have to lower their weapon first. Bilbo relaxed his arms, holding both hands up in surrender. "I-I don't want to hurt you. I was just trying to keep Fíli and Kíli safe. I didn't know who you were."

At this, Thorin finally lowered his weapon, and Bilbo felt his body deflate in relief. "I'm their uncle. How do you know them?"

"I-It's a bit of a long story. I've been looking out for them for the past few weeks."

Kíli tugged on the hem of Thorin's shirt. "Can we go see mom and dad?"

Thorin looked down at him, gaze softening slightly, and nodded. "They've been worried about you."

Fíli straightened, eyes widening. "You found them?"

"They're not far from here." He started towards one of the cars in the lot, the brothers keeping pace with quick, excited footsteps. After a moment, he turned and nodded for Bilbo to follow as well.

Bilbo put the gun back in his pocket and started walking. Now that his momentary spike of adrenaline had begun to fade, he realized with horror what he had almost done. If his gun had fired, he would have killed the boys' uncle right in front of them. The thought made him sick to his stomach, and he swore he could feel the weight of the gun tugging at his pocket.

Fíli and Kíli clambered into the backseat of the black pickup truck, and Bilbo sat in the passenger seat as Thorin started the car. He sat in silence as they pulled out of the parking lot, twisting his fingers and trying to figure out how to apologize for nearly killing someone.

Thorin was the one to speak first. "You've been on the road with them all this time?"

"Uh, no. We were actually staying at my apartment north of here. W-We were just out getting supplies."

His hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, but he didn't comment on what he likely considered to be an irresponsible move on Bilbo's part. Although, Bilbo reasoned, if he hadn't taken the boys with them, they would not have found their uncle at all.

"You were getting supplies at a toy store," Thorin said flatly.

"Well, yes," he replied, a touch defensively. "I wasn't just going to have them sit there all day." It occurred to him that they hadn't gotten any toys, though hopefully bringing the boys back to their parents would more than make up for it. But he remembered the candy in his pocket, and passed it back to them. He watched Fíli tear open one of the packages and pour some jelly beans into his brother's hand before taking some for himself and smiled.

He turned back in his seat and saw Thorin's eyes flicker over his face for a moment before returning to the road. Even that split-second look had been piercing enough to send a little flutter through his stomach.

When Thorin spoke again, his voice was softer than before. "Thank you. For keeping them safe."

"Of course." He clasped his hands together, a strange sort of heat growing on his neck and cheeks. "It was the least I could do."

"Not everyone would have," he said, regaining his gruffness. "There aren't as many people now who still have their humanity."

Bilbo wondered if he was talking about the dead or the living.

"We have room for you, if you want to come stay with us."

"Oh. Um, I-I wouldn't want to impose…" The idea had caught him off guard, but wasn't entirely unwelcome. He'd grown rather fond of Fíli and Kíli, and it would be nice to have others to depend on. But he didn't know if he was ready to leave his apartment behind, the place he'd lived all his life.

Kíli appeared in the corner of his vision, leaning forward with his elbows on the console between the two front seats. "Can you come stay with us? I can show you my room, and my Legos, and we can all play—"

"We're not going back to your house, Kíli," Thorin said. "We're all staying in a motel. And why don't you have your seatbelt on?"

He leapt backwards into his seat, and Fíli quietly admonished him, though Bilbo distinctly heard the sound of two seatbelts clicking into place.

"How did you end up in a motel?" he asked.

"We originally met up outside one of the quarantine zones set up by the military. But it was overrun before we could get inside, and they—" Thorin stopped, apparently noticing Fíli and Kíli were hanging on to his every word. "We had to find somewhere else to stay, and the motel was the first place we found that had enough room for everyone."

"Everyone?" Bilbo turned to look at him. "How many are there in your group?"

"Fourteen, including myself," he said. "My sister, her husband, quite a few cousins, and some family friends."

"Uncle Bofur is there?" Kíli made to get out of his seat again, but sat back as he remembered his seatbelt. "And Uncle Balin? And everyone else?"

Thorin nodded with a slight smile. "Almost everyone. We'll be there soon."

Bilbo couldn't help but notice that he hadn't mentioned any sort of partner for himself, nor any children. This was certainly not the time to ask about it, but he stowed the information away for later.

A few minutes later, a motel sign came into view on the left side of the tree-lined road. Bilbo leaned forward to get a better look. The establishment was called the Prancing Pony, and the sign featured a horse reared onto its back legs, though a piece of the top one had fallen off.

The motel was a two-storied building that formed a U shape around a parking lot in the center. A makeshift fence had been cobbled together across the open end. At one end of the second-floor balcony, Bilbo caught a glimpse of a man with a funny-looking hat carrying a rifle.

Thorin pulled up to the chain-link gate on one end of the fence, and a couple of men walked over to unlock and open it. Bilbo caught sight of a brown, rain-smeared splatter on one of the wood panels.

There were only a handful of cars in the parking lot, all lined up to one side, and a beaten-up RV at the other end. An awning was attached to one side, and a group of people were sitting beneath it in a bunch of mismatched lawn chairs.

The car had barely pulled to a stop before Fíli and Kíli were both tumbling out and running to the group at the RV.

Bilbo waited they were parked before climbing out. The boys were both attempting to talk over each other while exchanging hugs with various people. Kíli seemed perfectly caught up in the moment, but Fíli kept glancing around the motel, as though looking for someone else.

Thorin walked into the group and began speaking with a red-haired woman, but Bilbo stayed near the car, feeling as though he would be intruding if he introduced himself now. Nonetheless, he realized he was smiling, heart warming as Kíli gestured animatedly to one of the men who had opened the gate.

"Mom!"

Fíli seemed to have found the person he was looking for. He sprinted for the stairs, eyes locked on a dark-haired woman that was standing on the second floor balcony. She ran for him, a man following her as Kíli followed his brother, and the four of them met halfway down the stairs.

Their mother kissed them both, tears streaming down her face, and Bilbo felt moisture gather in his own eyes. Kíli was still trying to talk, his face, half-pressed into his father's chest, and Fíli was trying to hug both his parents with shaking arms.

A slight prickling on the back of his neck made him turn. The woman Thorin had been talking to was watching him, and when they made eye contact, she nodded at him, a slight frown on her face. "Who's this?"

Thorin put a hand on her shoulder as though to reassure her, and this was when Bilbo realized nearly everyone in the group had weapons. Several had guns or rifles, and those who didn't had hammers or knives on hand. He resisted the urge to raise his hands in surrender and stepped forward.

"My name is Bilbo Baggins. Um…" Most of them were staring now, and some didn't look entirely pleased with his being there.

"He's been taking care of the boys for the past few weeks," Thorin said. He locked eyes with Bilbo. "I just happened to find them."

At this, some of them relaxed. One of the older men stepped forward to shake his hand. "We're all very grateful for what you did. I'm Dori, and those are my brothers Nori and Ori…"

He went around the group, introducing the others: Óin, Bifur, Glóin and her wife Brana. Bofur was on lookout on the balcony, and Dís and Víli were Fíli and Kíli's parents. Their group had three other people who were out on a supply run.

Bilbo nodded, trying to commit everyone's name to memory. If he was going to be staying with them…

He stopped short. Just as when he had decided to take care of Fíli and Kíli, the thought had snuck up on him. The motel, rundown as it was, still felt like a home with a family to fill it. The more he thought about it, the more he _wanted_ to stay, as opposed to returning to his empty apartment.

Dís made her way through the crowd, having left Víli and the boys on the stairs. "You were the one taking care of them?" she asked, and Bilbo nodded. She walked up and pulled him into a crushing hug. "_Thank you_."

For once, he was rather at a loss for words as he returned the embrace. Dís was rather short, but probably could have crushed him like a soda can. But more than that, he could feel the desperate gratitude in her voice. He'd been panicked enough seeing the boys in danger after only knowing them for a few weeks. He couldn't imagine what it must have felt like to lose the children she had raised.

She drew back and held him at arm's length. "I'll never be able to repay what you've done, but if there's anything at all my husband and I can do for you—"

"No, no." Bilbo shook his head. "You don't owe me anything, really. I'm just glad I was able to get the boys back to their family."

"Stay with us, then." She gave his shoulders a squeeze. "There's safety in numbers. Are there other people with you?"

"It's just me. I…" He cleared his throat. In truth, the decision had already been made for him. How could he go back to his lonely apartment, face the increasing anxiety of food shortage in this desolate world, when he knew there was something better out there? "I have some supplies back in my apartment. It's not much, but…"

Dís nodded and released him. "Every little bit helps."

Thorin stepped forward. "I'll take you back there. We'll pick up your car as well."

The two of them headed back to the car, and everyone moved aside to give them room to pull out. Bilbo glanced back at the group, and saw Fíli and Kíli watching him from the stairs. He hoped Dís would reassure them that he was coming back, and the thought spread a strange warmth throughout his chest.

They pulled out of the parking lot, and Nori and Bifur shut the gate behind them.

"You said your apartment was up north?" Thorin asked.

"Yes. I'll tell you where to go." He rested his hands in his lap, and felt his elbow bump against the gun in his pocket. "By the way, sorry for, um, almost shooting you."

"Next time you want to kill someone, take the safety off."

"The safety?" Bilbo took the gun out of his pocket.

"It's a switch on the side. If the red dot is visible, that means it's ready to fire."

"Ah." He found the switch and pushed it, revealing the red dot, then quickly switched it back. "Well, that's good to know."

Thorin glanced at him. "I'm surprised you've been able to keep them safe all this time. I'm guessing you haven't run into many walkers."

"Walkers? You mean the dead people?" Bilbo paused as he registered the first thing he'd said. "Hang on, what do you mean by that?"

"The first time you pulled that trigger was when you were trying to shoot me, and you didn't even realize the gun wouldn't fire. I'm wondering how you've managed the walkers so far."

"I've run into a few." He looked down at the gun in his lap. "I...I've just never killed any."

"You can't kill them. They're already dead."

He supposed that was true, but the thought of shooting one of those things still made him a bit sick. The only reason he'd almost done it to Thorin was that he wouldn't have been able to stop him any other way.

"You know, they were alone before I found them. They'd broken into my apartment, actually, looking for some food." He smiled slightly at the memory. "And they were trying to find a way to get to you, actually. We quickly found out that was a dead end, so…"

Thorin tensed, and Bilbo realized a moment too late that he'd said the wrong thing.

"You took them into the city?"

"Well, I—" There was no point in lying. "Yes, I did. And it was a stupid mistake, I know that now."

His voice carried a low rumble of anger. "The city's overrun. How the hell did you get out of there?"

"I-I'm not quite sure, honestly. They surrounded the car, but I just stepped on the gas and drove us out." He sighed, feeling old guilt surge back into his chest. "I wasn't prepared at all for what the city would be like. And I feel terrible for putting the boys through that. It was entirely my fault."

Thorin took in a breath like he wanted to add to that, then closed his mouth.

He didn't say anything for the rest of the trip.

It was late afternoon by the time they reached the apartment complex. Bilbo climbed out of the car and made his way towards the door, not waiting for Thorin to catch up. He was still embarrassed about the city thing. The niggling worry settled at the back of his mind that the others would not want him in the group if they knew what he had done.

Once he reached his apartment, he set to work, taking the box that had once held the canned beans and filling it up with everything from his pantry. After a moment's consideration, he added some toiletries as well.

Bilbo looked up as Thorin walked in. "Is there anything else here that you might need? Bedsheets, cooking supplies, anything like that?"

He crossed his arms, surveying the room. "We'll take the bedsheets. Bring any kitchen knives you have, too."

He assumed that didn't include butter knives and went to collect them from the drawer.

"Have you checked the other apartments?" Thorin asked.

"Well, most everyone left after the outbreak. Though Mrs Greenfield, down at the end of the hall, is dea—a, um, walker."

"I meant, have you checked the apartments for supplies?"

"Oh. No." He stopped short. Here he was, worrying about a lack of food, and he hadn't thought to check the rest of the building. Thorin gave him a look that indicated the same sentiment, and seeing it sparked a bit of indignation in him. "No, in fact, I wasn't exactly inclined to go looting my neighbors' homes."

"If they've left, they're not coming back. Whatever they have is more use to us than them." With that, Thorin stepped through the door again, presumably to check the other apartments.

Well, he couldn't argue with that logic, though he did grumble to himself a bit as he finished packing his box. It was a good thing, wasn't it, that he hadn't immediately resorted to stealing from his neighbors once the world had ended. It was a good thing that he was still trying to hold onto his humanity.

With that in mind, he looked around his apartment in search of items that weren't entirely necessary. It was possible this would be the last time he'd be here. He took a couple of his favorite books from the shelf and, after a bit of hesitation, took down his parents' portraits and placed them in the box as well.

Bilbo picked it up with a grunt and carried it to the doorway. He turned around and looked at the room for a moment, the sunlight streaming across the light yellow walls, the heavy oak dining table, his comfy green armchair.

With an echoing emptiness in his chest, he stepped out and closed the door.

Thorin was busy testing the doors down the hall, so he left him to it and brought his box down to the car. He looked back up at the building, and the bright red of his tomato plants caught his eye. They wouldn't provide much in the way of food, but it would be nice to bring a bit of home with him, something that would grow and add a bit of green to the space.

He went to retrieve his plants, and was halfway up the stairs when a gunshot burst through the hallway.

Bilbo jumped, wincing at the loud noise, then ran up the stairs, his heart pounding. He stepped into the hallway and froze. Mrs Greenfield's apartment door was open, and she was lying just inside, a pool of brownish-red blood spreading beneath her head. It had been a month since he'd last seen her, and her skin was even more rotted and sagging than before, but he could make out a torn wound on the underside of her chin.

"Thorin!"

Footsteps sounded from within the apartment, and Thorin appeared in the living room a moment later. "Everything alright?"

He didn't know why he'd cried out in the first place, but he couldn't stop staring at the body. There were drops of blood staining her sweater, like drops of falling rain.

"She was already dead," Thorin said, his voice softer. "Go wait in the car. I'll finish up here."

Bilbo nodded, feeling rather numb, and the next thing he knew, he was sitting in the passenger seat, hands clasped between his knees. He stared at the dashboard, trying and failing to unravel the knot of emotion that had settled in his chest.

Some time later, Thorin came down with a couple boxes of supplies from the other apartments and started up the car. They didn't speak as they left the parking lot, and the building was out of sight by the time Bilbo realized he had forgotten to bring his plants.

**That last scene ended up way angstier than I planned, which is how a lot of my writing goes lol**

**So now that our cast of characters has multiplied dramatically, I have to ask...who am I killing? I personally dislike reading stories where anyone in the Company dies, but this is a zombie apocalypse story... **  
**I have definite plans to kill off one person in particular, but I want to know from my readers if you would prefer I keep everyone else alive or spice things up a bit. If I can't kill anyone, at least give me a potential amputee.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Bilbo sighed and closed his eyes, feeling the cool, misty air on his face. It was an overcast morning, and the dim light had prompted most of the group to sleep in. He'd woken up rather early, though, and now he was leaning against the second floor railing and taking a quiet moment to himself.

Down under the RV awning, Bofur, Dori, and Nori were sitting in a circle, poring over a sheet of paper.

"I think we should stop by a pharmacy along the way. There might still be some stuff in the back." Bofur turned to Nori. "You still have those lock picking tools?"

"'Course," Nori said, then rolled his eyes as Dori made a disapproving noise at the back of his throat. "Do you guys have money for bail if I get arrested_?_"

Bilbo made his way down the stairs and walked over to them. "Are you planning on going on a run soon?"

Bofur turned and smiled at him. "We shouldn't have to for a while, thanks to you and Thorin. We're just taking a look at the area, trying to come up with a strategy."

The paper on the stack of boxes between them was a crude map of sorts, with hastily-drawn boxes detailing residential and shopping areas and a few arrows drawn between.

Bilbo straightened. "I actually have a map of the area in my car. Give me a second—" He hurried over to where his car was parked along with the others.

After gathering the things from his apartment last week, Thorin had taken him to where they had left his own car near the toy store, and they had drove back separately. Bilbo had been glad for the release of tension. He was fairly sure Thorin didn't like him, as their conversations had been short and curt. Though it didn't seem he had told anyone else about the city fiasco, and for that he was grateful.

He pulled the map from the glove compartment and took it back over to the RV. Bofur took it with a grin and spread it out over the paper, though quite a bit of it dangled over the sides of the boxes.

"Why do you have a paper map of the area?" Nori asked, leaning one elbow against the chair's armrest. "Those are pretty hard to come by."

"Well, I'm a bit of a collector," Bilbo said, sticking his hands in his pockets with a shrug. "I usually get them at antique shops or flea markets, but I think this one was a gift from a friend."

Dori was leaned over and studying the map with Bofur. "I assume these X's are places you've already checked?"

"Well, yes." Bilbo leaned forward as well, and at Bofur's prompting tug on his arm, took one of the empty seats. "I've circled some of the places I haven't been to yet."

"We should be able to cross-reference this with ours," Nori said, sliding their paper out from under the map. "Get a better idea of where to go, find another safe place."

He looked up. "Another one? What's wrong with this one?"

Dori was shaking his head, and Bofur sat back and cleared his throat.

"Let's just say I don't like our odds here if something goes wrong." Nori gestured towards their makeshift fence. "That thing would be down in a second if someone decided to drive through. Not to mention we'd be trapped here with no means of self-sufficiency if more walkers showed up."

Bilbo glanced at the fence with a frown. "If any walkers come here, couldn't we just, um, shoot them?"

"We try not to. The noise attracts more." He patted the knife on his belt. "That's what these are for. And I'm not talking a few—I'm talking a horde, fifty or so that could break down the fence with sheer force. We wouldn't have enough firepower to stop them."

"I don't know where you get these ideas." Dori clasped his hands and frowned at his brother. "What makes you think the dead ones are going to roam around like a mob?"

"They do." Bilbo sat back, chills crawling up his arms. "I've seen them." The thought of that horde of walkers surrounding them, with no metal or glass to keep them out, made chills crawl up his arms.

"Maybe we should start building treehouses," Bofur said. "From what I've seen, I don't think they can climb."

He assumed Bofur was joking, but Nori said, "That doesn't fix our self-sufficiency problem. I say we find the nearest prison. They're as good keeping things out as they are in. There'd be some open space for crops, and—"

"A prison?" Dori spread his hands. "That has to be the least safe place we could possibly go. No doubt it's still full of criminals, living and dead."

Nori bristled at the way his brother said _criminals_, but sat back and said nothing more on the matter.

Bilbo looked around at the motel, at the flimsy white curtains and the light yellow siding. The place was still unfamiliar, but he didn't want to leave it before he'd even had a chance to call it home.

The group already had a routine of sorts, and it had been easy to fall into it. When they had begun putting his name on the schedule for watch duty atop the RV, it had given him a little burst of happiness in his chest that he didn't quite know how to explain.

But then again, if they did end up running out of food, it was possible they would all have to leave.

It was possible they'd never find a true home again.

* * *

"It looks like a lot, doesn't it?" Thorin sighed and placed his hands on his hips. They had at least a dozen boxes of food stacked against the wall of one of the motel rooms. But between seventeen people, it wouldn't last them a month. Glad as he was to have Fíli and Kíli back, the addition of three more people to their group had put even more of a strain on their resources.

"We'll have to cut rations down again," Bifur said, and the two of them set to work dividing up the food for that day.

They had only been working for half an hour before there was a knock on the door. It opened, flooding the electric lamp-illuminated room with sunlight, and his nephews walked in.

"When are we eating?" Kíli asked. "I'm hungry."

"Soon," he said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "We're dividing up the food now."

Fíli walked further into the room, looking around at the stacks of supplies. They had batteries, water bottles, toiletries, a gallon bag of medicine, and a couple first aid kits piled onto the bed.

Kíli sat on the edge of the mattress and began swinging his legs. "When are we gonna go home?"

Thorin exchanged a glance with Bifur. He'd been hoping his sister would have dealt with this. "What did mom tell you?"

"She said she didn't know. But I thought maybe you would know."

"We'll go back when it's safe," he said, passing a sheet of paper to Bifur so he could mark down how much food was left.

"When?"

"I don't know," he replied, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. As the weeks passed, it was becoming more of a question of _if_ than _when_. As far as he knew, the military had disbanded months ago, if they hadn't all been killed first. Even if they somehow managed to handle the walkers, they'd have to find a way to bring order back to a population that was happy to loot and kill as they pleased.

"Bilbo was staying in his apartment," Fíli said.

"He had his own reasons for that." Even if their old neighborhood was no longer overrun, it would be a waste of time and resources to relocate the entire group to another place. Nori and a few others had continued to argue for it, but it wasn't practical.

It still baffled him that Bilbo had managed to survive this long, and he reasoned he must have been luck more than anything. He doubted the man had so much as thrown a punch in his life, and his reluctance to kill walkers could easily get himself or someone else killed.

Thorin had wanted to leave him off the watch schedule altogether since he clearly didn't know his way around a rifle, but Balin had reasoned that they could only give him daytime shifts so someone could come to his aid if something went wrong.

In the corner of the room, metal clattered as Fíli bent down to examine the duffel bag next to the nightstand. "What's this?"

"_Fíli_," Thorin said, and he immediately backed away.

Kíli walked around the bed to see what his brother had been looking at. "Are those guns?"

The bag held the weapons and ammo they'd managed to scavenge. It was mostly handguns with a few rifles and knives thrown in. The last thing he needed was the boys getting into the stash.

"You're not allowed to touch those, _ever_, understood?" They both nodded, and Thorin waved them towards the door. "Go tell everyone we'll be eating soon."

It was such a mundane statement in such a different situation that it made him pause for a moment. He could pretend that things were normal, but he knew in his heart that there was no going back to the way the world had been before.

Eventually, they were all going to have to realize that.

* * *

"Here, Bilbo, can you come give me a hand with this?"

Bilbo looked up at the sound of his name being called and made his way over to the fence. He'd been helping Óin hang some of the washed clothes on the second floor railing, and was going to retrieve a shirt that had blown across the parking lot, but it seemed Bombur was having a bit of trouble with the board in his hands.

He walked over and steadied it so Bombur could finish nailing it to the one below. "Something wrong with the fence?"

"A few of the boards came loose during that storm yesterday, so I'm just adding some reinforcements." Bombur gestured for them to switch spots so he could start nailing the other side. "If we could get some corrugated steel, that would make my life a lot easier, but of course that's a little harder to come by."

Bilbo waited until he'd stopped hammering, then said, "You seem to know your way around, um, building materials."

"My brother and I worked for a construction company before," he gestured vaguely, "all this."

"I see." He smiled briefly. "Then I suppose we're lucky to have you both in the group." He wished, not for the first time, that he had some useful skill of his own to contribute to the group.

"Oi, Bilbo," Óin called from the walkway. "You mind getting that shirt before we have to wash it again?"

"On it," he said. As far as skills went, retrieving laundry would have to do for now.

The motel was unusually quiet as he walked back towards the stairs. Thorin had become increasingly anxious about the state of their food, and had taken half the group out on a run, leaving the RV as the only vehicle left in the lot.

Bilbo was halfway up the stairs when Óin let out a sharp whistle and called to Dís, who was on lookout at the other end of the U.

"I see it," she said, raising her rifle.

"What is it?" he asked, hurrying down the walkway to gain Óin's vantage point.

It was a single walker, staggering out of the forest and towards the fence. The sight sent his pulse racing—it had been weeks since he'd seen one, and it had been a little too easy to fall into the fantasy that the walking corpses had been nothing more than a bad dream.

"No guns," Glóin said, rising from where she'd been sitting near the RV. "There might be more around. I'll take care of this one." She took a screwdriver from her pocket and walked over to the chain-link section of the gate. "Hey! Over here!" She rattled the metal, and the walker lurched towards her with a growl.

Bilbo realized he was gripping the railing with sweaty palms, watching intently as the walker clawed as the gate, its jaw clacking as if in anticipation for something to bite. Glóin took the screwdriver and stabbed it through the opening, right into its skull. The walker gave one last growl as she pulled it out, then collapsed against the gate.

"You know that thing's going to stink up the whole parking lot," Bombur said. Bilbo grimaced. Already he could smell its rotting stench wafting with the breeze.

"Come help me dump it somewhere else, then," Glóin said. She glanced up at Dís. "You got eyes on us?"

She nodded. "Don't go too far."

Glóin and Bombur undid the gate, then lifted the body and carried it across the street and into the woods. Bilbo watched them with a frown.

"Do you think there might be others?" he asked Óin. "Nori was saying earlier that more of them might show up."

"It's possible. The ones in the city might start moving out, look for another food source," he said. "Not like we know much about them, anyway."

He suppressed a shiver, imagining the horde from the city coming down the road. "Well, it's possible they'll pass right by us if we're quiet." He turned to Óin. "Right?"

"Like I said, we don't know much about them," he said with a shrug. "I don't think we can start making predictions like that yet. Now, help me hang up the rest of these clothes."

Bilbo obliged with a sigh, trying to put the issue out of his mind. He'd done nothing but worry since this whole apocalypse business had begun, and frankly, he was getting a little tired of it.

Glóin and Bombur came back a minute later, and the motel fell back into a restful silence, save the thumping of Bombur's hammer. The sun was nearly down when Dís straightened and called for them to open the gate again.

Víli's group drove through a moment later, and Nori stuck his head out the sunroof. "I don't want to say I told you so, but I told you so."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Glóin asked as she closed the gate.

Inside the car, Dori could be heard grumbling at his brother. He and Bifur climbed out as soon as Víli parked the car.

Nori leaned his elbows on the roof. "We saw at least a hundred of 'em coming from up north."

"A hundred what?" Glóin asked, but Bilbo was already shaking his head in disbelief.

Víli stepped out. "Can you please get out so I can shut my sunroof?" He turned to Glóin. "Walkers. We saw a herd of them coming down the highway."

"You saw a hundred _walkers_?" Dís's mouth fell open. "You mean, together?"

Óin grunted and reached for the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket. "I guess you were right, lad," he muttered to Bilbo.

Nori vaulted out of the car through the sunroof and ignored the exasperated glare Víli shot him. "Yeah, they were all together. If they keep following the road, they'll be here by midnight."

"Jesus," Bilbo muttered.

"Good news is, we found a few more boxes of food."

Bombur sighed and leaned against the wall. "Did you happen to find some corrugated steel, by any chance?"

* * *

"You're kidding."

Víli shook his head, his expression grim. "I saw them myself, twenty miles down the road. Nori says they'll be here by midnight."

Thorin ran a hand over his face and cursed under his breath. He'd just come back from his run with Dwalin and Ori, and had been hoping to get some good news to make up for their rather disappointing haul.

The rest of the group had collected in a tight knot near the RV and were talking in low, tense voice.

"Some of them think we should leave," Víli said, following his gaze.

"We don't have anywhere else to go." Thorin crossed his arms. "We can't be looking to escape every time we run into a problem."

He held up his hands. "You'd be better off telling them that. I'm with you on this one."

"Right." Thorin made his way over to the RV. Somewhere along the way, from meeting at the quarantine zone to finding the motel, he'd been made the de facto leader of the group. He was prepared to lead them, but whether they would all follow in the face of a threat like this was another matter.

"If we leave now, we can get ahead of the herd," Nori was saying when he approached. "We could circle around west, head for the coast."

"And what'll we do when we get there?" Glóin asked. "Find a nice beach house to shack up in?"

"Well, my thinking is if those buggers can't swim—"

"Wait, are you suggesting—"

"We're staying," Thorin said, making the whole group turn towards him. "We're going to have to wait for them to pass. We can fortify the fence, stay quiet, and they'll be gone by morning."

"Thorin, I don't know about this one." Dís was shaking her head. "If something goes wrong and they get inside, we'll have nowhere to run. We'd be stuck in the middle of the forest."

"Mom?"

Everyone turned as Fíli approached, his brother not far behind.

"What's going on? Are we in trouble?" he asked.

"It's nothing, sweetie." Dís made her way over and squeezed his shoulder. "Why don't you take your brother back to your room?"

Fíli didn't look convinced at all, but took Kíli by the hand and walked back to the building.

Thorin frowned. He didn't see any point in lying to them, especially if a hundred walkers were going to be passing by that night, but he was hardly one to give parenting advice.

"I still don't know about this," Bofur said once the boys were out of earshot. "We don't exactly have a ton of supplies, here. Tonight might be our only chance to leave for a long time."

"If we get stuck, we can just pick them off one by one." Glóin put a hand on her gun. "Those things can't do anything except walk and bite, and we have weapons."

"Um." Bilbo tentatively raised a hand. "If I may…" He faltered for a moment as everyone looked at him. "We do know they're attracted to sound, yes? What if we were to make some noise to distract them, lead them away from the motel?"

"You mean, like fireworks or something?"

"Do we...have those?"

"No, we don't have any fireworks." Dwalin rolled his eyes. "We're just going to have to stand our ground."

"And we can't stand around discussing this any longer when we should be preparing," Thorin said. "We'll double up the watch and reinforce the fence. Check the perimeter, make sure it's secure."

Before he could start assigning tasks to people, Nori raised a finger and said, "I propose a compromise. If we stay, we still need an exit plan. We should put all the supplies in the vehicles, in case we need to make a quick getaway." He looked around at the group. "And if we're all still here come morning, then no harm done, right?"

"Fine." Thorin nodded. "We'll add that to the list of things to do. But we're not giving up this place just yet."

* * *

Bilbo was lying on his back, listening to the chirp of crickets and waiting for the sound to be interspersed with the growls of walkers. He had no idea how many hours it had been since they'd finished their preparations, but he sincerely doubted anyone else was sleeping.

He sat up with a sigh, considering gathering up one of his books and an electric lantern to pass the time instead of lying there worrying. While the room didn't compare to his old apartment, it was starting to feel a little more homey, with his stack of books on the nightstand and his jacket hung up in the closet. He'd even asked Bofur for a couple of nails so he could hang up his parents' portraits.

Looking at them, their placid but kind expressions captured in soft strokes of paint, he wondered what they would have done if they'd still been alive when the world had ended. His father would have prepared, stockpiled their pantry with canned goods and made sure they had all the comforts they needed to weather the storm. His mother, ever the adaptable one, would have been able to navigate this new world. She'd always talked about taking them camping, but he didn't think she would have wanted it like this.

The door creaked open, and Bilbo jumped, one hand reaching for the drawer where he kept his gun. But it was only Fíli and Kíli, and he relaxed as they crept into the room and shut the door.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered. "Thorin told everyone to stay inside. Do your parents know you're here?"

There were just enough rooms in the motel for everyone, but a few family groups had opted to double up. Fíli and Kíli shared a room on the second floor, and their parents were in the one next to them.

"Mom won't tell us what's going on," Fíli said. They crawled onto the bed to sit cross legged next to him. Bilbo decided not to point out that they hadn't taken their shoes off first. "But something's wrong, isn't it?"

He sighed. "So you've come to me to find out what's going on."

"Is it more walkers?" Kíli asked.

"Well…" He pinched a bit of the bedsheets between his fingers. "You know, it's not very respectful to go behind your parents' backs like this. They only want what's best for you, and if they keep something from you, they probably have a good reason for it."

"But we're bored." He flopped down on the mattress. "They just told us to go to sleep and stop asking."

"That's what they did before," Fíli said, a hint of distress entering his voice. He didn't elaborate, but Bilbo guessed he was talking about their reactions when the outbreak had first happened.

"All right, look." He reached out and took both their hands. "We're all worried that something dangerous might be coming tonight. But everyone has it well in hand. This isn't going to be like it was before. Every single person in this motel would do anything to keep the both of you safe, so you have nothing to worry about."

Fíli nodded, some of the tension in his brow clearing. Kíli stretched out his legs and asked, "Can we stay here? I'm still bored."

Bilbo smiled slightly. "Of course you can. I don't have much in the way of entertainment, though." He glanced at the books on his nightstand. None of them were really at either of their reading levels.

"Can you tell us a story? Dad does that sometimes."

A bit of warmth blossomed in his chest. The boys hadn't just come to his room in hopes of some extra information. They felt safe with him, and wanted to spend time with him. He was glad that he could still be a part of their lives, even if they'd already found their actual family.

"All right." He sat back against the headboard, thinking back to his old manuscript that he'd been working on. Perhaps he would get to share it after all. "Our story begins in a faraway land…"

Bilbo talked for hours, trying his best to remember what details he could. He was fairly sure not all the plot details tied together exactly, but he'd succeeded in one way or another—Fíli and Kíli were both fast asleep on top of the comforter. He could feel his own eyes drifting shut, and he let out a yawn. When he woke up, perhaps he'd get to writing some of those plot details down…

A muffled, rattling _thump_ sounded from the next room over, and Bilbo sat up, uneasiness burning away the sleep weighing on his mind. Fíli stirred and lifted his head.

"Wha' was that?"

"I don't know." Bilbo stood up and slid his gun out of the drawer. It was probably nothing, but there was no harm in checking. "Stay here."

A strange chorus of shuffling reached his ears when he stepped outside. The moon was the only thing illuminating the area, and it cast gray shadows across the parking lot. Óin and Dwalin were standing on the second floor on either side of the U, rifles in hand, and Bombur was sitting on top of the RV. He noticed Bilbo come out and put a finger to his lips.

As he stepped out into the light, a wave of movement caught his eye, and his heart dropped into his stomach as he looked out through the gate.

He'd come out right in the middle of it. The walkers filled the whole road, jostling each other with their haphazard gaits. They were moving rather quietly, with only a few low growls interspersed here and there, and Bilbo supposed this was why he hadn't heard them from inside the room. None of them had stopped at the fence, and a small bit of adrenaline-spiked hope trickled into his chest. Perhaps they would survive the night after all.

With slow, deliberate steps, Bilbo turned and made his way to the room next door, where he'd heard the strange noise. He frowned as he realized it wasn't another room for lodging, but the utility closet, where the boiler and cleaning supplies were kept. They rarely used the room, and he had no idea why anyone would be in there.

Bilbo opened the door, allowing light to flood the cramped room, and realized three things.

One, there was a back door at the other end of the room.

Two, the back door was open.

Three, a walker had made it through the door and was standing inside.

He only had time for an, "Oh, _shit_," before the walker, having heard the door open, turned and lunged at him.

Bilbo stumbled back with a yell, one hand fumbling for his gun and the other flying up to push the walker away as it gripped his shoulders. Its weight dragged him down, sending them both toppling onto the concrete and knocking the breath from his lungs. Gasping for air, he abandoned his gun in favor of using both hands to try and push the thing off of him.

The walker growled, its clacking teeth narrowly missing the flesh of his forearm as he propped both hands against its collarbone. He could feel its rotting flesh slide beneath his fingers, and swallowed back a wave of nausea so he could shout, "_Help!"_

Distantly, he could hear the group on watch crying out, could hear some of the other doors open, but all of his focus was on the creature currently trying to take a bite of his jugular. His arms were shaking from the effort of keeping it off him.

The walker's head exploded as a gunshot rang through the air. Bilbo flinched as rotting blood and bits of bone splattered the wall behind them. The walker went still, and he shoved it off, breathing hard.

"Are you all right?" Bombur called. "Are you bit?"

Bilbo shook his head frantically, scraping his palms as he scooted away from the body. He could feel drops of sticky blood soaking through his shirt, just below his collar.

"What the hell just happened?" Dwalin shouted, his rifle aimed and scanning the area. Bilbo assumed he had been the one to take the shot, and made a mental note to thank him later.

The noise hadn't gone unnoticed, though. The chain-link gate rattled as the walkers pressed against it, squeezing their fingers through the openings and snarling with clacking jaws.

"What the hell was that?" Nori leaned against the second floor railing. "Who just fired a gun?"

Bilbo turned at the sound of a low whimper, and found Fíli and Kíli standing in the doorway, eyes darting between the corpse on the ground and the dozens more clamoring against the fence.

"Christ," Bofur's voice sounded from the other end of the motel. "Is that a walker? How did one get in?"

Breathing hard, Bilbo finally pushed himself to his feet and stumbled into the utility closet. The back door was unlocked, apparently, and the knob was loose. It would have only taken a slight push to open it.

A movement just beyond caught his attention. He crept towards the door, scanning the forest just outside, and realized with a jolt of horror that the walker from the closet was not alone. There were at least a dozen of them coming through the trees, drawn by the sound of the gunshot.

Spitting curses under his breath, Bilbo shut the outer door, then hurried to close the other. Back in the parking lot, people were running, gathering weapons, trying to further reinforce the fence as more walkers gathered.

"They're in the forest!" Bilbo shouted, hoping someone would hear him over the chaos. "They've surrounded us!"

"Get back, all of you!" Thorin shouted. "Get away from the gate!"

With a terrible screech, the metal hinges of the gate tore away from the fence. Bofur, Bifur, and Brana scrambled back, abandoning their efforts to push back against the tide of walkers as the fence crashed to the ground.

The dead began to pour into the parking lot, and all hell broke loose.

**This is lowkey just a filler chapter because the next thing I had written in my notes was the walker horde showing up, but I didn't want to have Bilbo get to the motel and then in the next scene throw everyone in jeopardy. So I hope you enjoyed some of the scenes here, and if there's anything in particular you'd like to see in later chapters, let me know!**

**It's also a little difficult to handle such a big cast of charters, especially since I introduced them all at once, so if you guys have any criticism or tips, feel free to share!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Thorin had barely unloaded three rounds into the herd of walkers before he was sprinting for the stairs, shouting for everyone to get into the cars. Ori, Bofur, Bifur, Brana, and Dori had already followed his orders, piling into the RV and yanking the door shut moments before a walker slammed into it.

Dwalin was standing at the top of the stairs, firing into the group of walkers, but Thorin motioned for him to head downwards. He turned to Óin, Glóin, Víli, Dís, and Nori, who were still on the upper level with him.

"Come on! Let's get to the cars!"

The gate was on the left side of the parking lot, and though the stairs on that side had been compromised, they still had time to get down to the vehicles on the right. Óin, Glóin, and Nori ran past him and down the stairs, and Thorin paused to take out a couple of walkers that were getting too close.

Víli and Dís had gone the opposite direction, and were pulling a screaming Fíli away from the stairs. Thorin's blood ran cold. Where was Kíli?

"Come on!" Dwalin yelled from below. "Get down here!"

The walkers had nearly filled the parking lot. The group by the cars was shooting as many as they could, and a few walkers turned towards the RV as its engine rumbled to life.

Thorin waited until his family was close to the stairs before climbing down and joining the defensive formation with the others. They were missing Kíli and possibly some others, but he had no time to do a headcount.

Nori ushered Balin, Dís, and Fíli into Bilbo's car before climbing in himself. Dwalin was pulling Óin, and Glóin into his own truck, and shouted for them to get a move on.

Bitterness simmering beneath panic, Thorin turned towards his own vehicle. The motel was lost.

"Wait!" Bilbo was pushing his way across the parking lot, skirting the lower level. The walkers had already filled the parking lot, and a few snagged his clothing as he passed. He was nearly there when a walker lunged at him, taking hold of his shoulder, and he cried out as they both fell.

"God _dammit_." Thorin threw open the door to his car and climbed in. Víli joined him and closed the door just before a walker could stick its grasping hand inside.

In the rear window, over the milling heads of the walkers, he could see the RV inching its way through the crowd. Dwalin's truck growled past, barreling over the dead bodies as it turned and drove straight through the fence.

"What the hell happened back there?" Thorin asked, his grip tight on the wheel as he followed Dwalin's lead. "What happened to Kíli?"

"I-I don't know. He and Fíli were running for the stairs, but the walkers came in and—" Víli took a shaky breath. "I-I lost him."

Thorin muttered a stream of curses under his breath as they pulled out onto the road. The air in his lungs felt thin and empty. They'd lost Bilbo and Kíli. The younger, weaker members of the group, the ones they were supposed to _protect_.

The herd of walkers thinned somewhat as they continued down the street. Dwalin's truck was in the lead, with Nori in Bilbo's car just behind them, and in his rearview Thorin could see the RV finally break free of the walkers and speed up to join them.

He could hear Víli's breaths shaking with suppressed sobs, and he gripped the steering wheel until his fingers went numb. He'd been so focused on the walkers he hadn't been there for the boys. He'd been so stubbornly focused on keeping the motel that his nephew had paid for it.

He should have been the one to keep them _safe_.

Dawn had painted the air a pale yellow by the time Dwalin pulled up to a small town to stop, and the rest of them followed suit. Thorin parked the car, his motions automatic, and climbed out.

Dís was already making her way over to the RV, with unsteady strides. "Kíli?" she asked as Dori climbed out. "Is my boy with you?" Her voice cracked.

Dori went pale and shook his head. "I didn't see him at all."

In the back of Bilbo's car, Thorin could see Fíli's form, sitting unnaturally still.

Víli stepped out and wrapped his arms around Dís as she sank to the ground.

No one wanted to move, and it was only when a low growl sounded from the storefront across the street that Thorin shook himself from his daze and stalked across the pavement. A walker stumbled out through the jagged opening of the broken window and raised its hands, grasping blindly for its next meal.

Its head snapped to the side as the butt of Thorin's rifle connected with its jaw. The blow was strong enough to tear its flesh, revealing dark, slimy tendons beneath. Another strike sent it toppling over to the ground, and Thorin drove his weapon through the side of its skull. It stopped moving after that, but he didn't stop, slamming his rifle down again and again as dark blood spread across the pavement.

* * *

"Wait!"

Bilbo was gripping his gun so hard it hurt, and though he'd switched the safety off as soon as the walkers had broken through the gate, he hadn't yet fired a single shot into the crowd.

He was nearly at the group of cars. Thorin and Víli were still shooting into the herd, just barely keeping the walkers at bay. He just had to push past a couple of them—

A snarl sounded at his shoulder, and he realized too late that a walker had managed to get behind him. It fell into him, and he felt himself falling over for the second time that night.

Bilbo cried out as its weight pressed into him, pinning the hand with the gun to his chest. He writhed, narrowly avoiding the snap of its teeth, then switched his gun to his other trembling hand. A spot of disturbingly cold saliva fell onto his cheek.

Desperation mingling with disgust, he pressed the barrel to the walker's temple and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot was louder than he thought it would be, and made him flinch. Blood and bone sprayed to the side, and the walker fell still. He had no time to catch his breath as he registered the shuffling footsteps all around him. He struggled, fruitlessly trying to dislodge the walker on top of him. If another decided to take a bite out of him, he didn't think he'd be able to stop it.

But the walkers around him limped past and ignored him completely. Perhaps the fallen one's stench helped disguise him, or they believed him to be dead already and not worth their time. Bilbo had no idea which it was, but he still had to get up eventually.

With a strained groan, he finally managed to roll the walker off him and stumbled to his feet.

"Oh, come _on_." The cars had already broken down the fence and were speeding off the highway, though this did have the advantage of distracting some of the walkers away from him. The RV was pulling out as well, its bulk struggling to push through the mass of dead bodies. Bilbo started forward, even though he knew he'd never be able to make it through.

A group of walkers stumbled, growling, towards the front of the RV, and as it drove away, Bilbo realized there had been a small figure huddled beneath it.

_Kíli._

The boy lifted his head, realizing his hiding place was on the move, then looked around in terror at the walkers surrounding him.

"Here!" Bilbo hissed, then ran forward to dodge a walker as it tried to grab him. "Kíli! Over here!"

His eyes widened, and he scrambled to his feet and began to run for him. Bilbo dodged another walker and lifted his gun. As one of them lunged at Kíli, he squeezed the trigger. His aim was off, probably due to his shaking limbs, and blood splattered from the walker's shoulder. But it was enough to give him time, and Kíli latched onto his arm as soon as he'd reached him.

"Stay close to me." Bilbo shot another couple of walkers that wandered too close, and spared a moment to look at their surroundings. The RV was nearly out of the parking lot altogether, and they would get eaten alive trying to pursue it. His gun had attracted more, which left them with only one way to go.

He pushed Kíli ahead of him, towards the utility closet, then turned and fired at the closest walkers until he was out of bullets. With the grisly image of the pile of bodies he'd left on the ground smarting beneath his eyelids, he turned and darted into the utility closet.

The tiny room was thankfully empty, and Bilbo closed the door just as half a dozen growling bodies pressed against it. They stood in the dark for a moment, breathing hard.

"Are you all right?" Bilbo asked, feeling for wherever Kíli was. His hand eventually brushed against some unruly hair, and he moved it to his shoulder. "Did any of them bite you?"

"N-No." His voice was shaking so badly it took him a while to get the single word out.

That was all they had time for at the moment. If their gunshots had attracted the walkers in the parking lot, then it was likely they had caught the attention of however many were in the woods.

And he hadn't saved any bullets for them. Bilbo silently cursed his lack of foresight and gripped his gun anyway. They had to get out before the closet became surrounded on both ends.

Steeling himself, Bilbo pushed the other door open and looked around. There were about a dozen walkers at the back of the motel, clawing at the brick as though it would yield a way in. Through the shadowed trees, he could see more staggering their way.

"All right." He glanced down at Kíli, who reached up to take his hand. "We're going to have to run very quickly, now. Do you think you can do that?"

All he got in response was a shaky nod, but that would have to be good enough for now.

He stepped outside, using his grip on Kíli's hand to keep him close, and broke into a run. A few of the walkers noticed him and started for them, but their fingers closed around thin air.

There were more of them further into the forest, shifting shadows that growled as they passed, and every sudden movement in the dark had Bilbo gasping and tugging for Kíli to go faster.

It was rather difficult for Kíli on his shorter legs, and once he began to stumble Bilbo realized his short, gasping breaths were not of terror but of exhaustion. He stopped, and the two of them doubled over, panting.

Neither of them had gotten their breath back before the grunts of the walkers reached Bilbo's ears again. He cursed, too tired and exasperated to properly censor himself in front of Kíli. They could outrun the walkers for now, but the dead didn't tire. They would be caught before they could find a safe place.

"All right." He tugged on Kíli's hand, prompting him to move again. The boy gave a small groan, and he wished he had the strength and energy to carry him properly. "Not too far, now."

They darted through the trees, spurred on by the groans of the dead. Bilbo finally found one with sufficiently low branches and stopped.

"Do you think you can climb up?"

Kíli nodded, and Bilbo helped him up onto the first branch. He made sure that he had a good foothold, then turned to the rest of the forest, holding up his empty gun as if the mere threat would ward off the walkers.

There were two of them that he could see, though slight movements in the near distance hinted at the presence of more.

"Bilbo?"

He looked up. Kíli was about ten feet up, peering down at him with wide eyes.

"Yes, I'm coming." He tried to climb up onto the lowest branch, gripping the trunk for support, but his sweaty palms slipped on the wood. He grabbed the next highest, but couldn't quite manage to pull himself up. It seemed the end of the world hadn't done much for his upper body strength.

"Bilbo?" Kíli's voice came again, higher pitched this time.

He glanced backwards. The walkers were only a few feet away.

"_Drat_." He jumped, trying to sling his leg over the branch, and on the third try managed to find some purchase.

Kíli had climbed down a little ways and was watching him closely, poised as though he wanted to help.

"It's all right," Bilbo said, gripping another branch to pull himself up. "I'm fine. I—ah!"

One of the walkers grabbed his ankle and pulled. He flailed for a moment, only barely keeping his grip on the branch. The walker held fast and began gnawing at the sole of his shoe. Breathing hard, Bilbo kicked at its head, and its grip loosened slightly. Another walker joined the first and reached up to claw at his leg, through his pants.

A small hand grasped at his wrist, and he glanced up to see Kíli leaning down and trying to pull him up. Bilbo took in a gasping breath. He had to see Kíli through this, _alive_. He couldn't leave him here alone.

With a burst of energy, he braced himself with both hands wrapped around the branch and yanked his foot upwards. His shoe slipped off and fell from the walker's hands as it reached for him.

Another spurt of adrenaline had him scrambling up the branches, barely noticing the scrape of the bark against his palms. Kíli was right there with him, and they only stopped once the branches became too thin to climb.

They looked down in silence, breathing hard, at the walkers as they groaned and scratched at the bark of the tree.

Bilbo turned to Kíli, feeling a bit dizzy. He'd never been good with heights. "Are you all right?"

"I think so."

"You did well, back there." He reached over to rub his back. "You make it a very easy job of keeping you safe."

"What about my mom and dad?" Kíli turned to him, his expression faltering. "And Fíli?"

"They're all safe. I-I think." In the confusion, he hadn't been able to keep track of everyone. One of their group might have been swarmed by the walkers and he would have no idea. The thought gave him chills. And he only felt colder as he realized Kíli's family would soon believe him to be dead, if they hadn't make that assumption already.

He glanced down at the two walkers and let out a sigh of frustration. They would have to make it out of the woods, somehow, and then find a way to catch up with the rest of the group.

"What do we do?" Kíli asked. He sat on one of the branches and began to rock back and forth slightly, and Bilbo hoped he had the sense not to accidentally tip himself over.

Bilbo scanned the area. The motel was out of sight, totally obscured by the trees. In fact, the leafy boughs were all he could see in every direction. The sky was beginning to lighten, though, and in a few hours it would be daytime.

"We'll wait here, for now. Once we can see properly we'll see what we can do about getting ourselves out of here." Hopefully the next few hours would give the walkers time to clear out of the forest, including the ones at the base of their tree.

It was an uncomfortable wait. By the time the sun had risen, Bilbo's muscles were cramped and sore from sitting in the tree for so long. Next to him, Kíli appeared to have succumbed to his exhaustion and was leaning against the trunk, fast asleep. Bilbo kept glancing over to make sure he did not accidentally fall over.

Even the walkers had mellowed out somewhat. One of them had gone to investigate some rustling elsewhere and hadn't come back, but the other one remained, standing against the trunk in a strange, almost catatonic state.

Eventually, Bilbo decided they could wait no longer. They needed to find food and water soon, and he had no doubt the rest of the group was worrying more with each minute that passed. He reached over to wake Kíli, and put a steadying hand on his shoulder as the boy became aware of their surroundings.

"We're climbing down, now," he whispered. "If we do it quietly, we may be able to sneak past." He nodded to the walker below their feet.

Kíli followed his gaze and frowned. "What if it gets us?"

He sighed and looked around again. There was no guarantee they wouldn't wake the thing up. He could try getting the walker's attention and leading it away, but he didn't want to leave Kíli alone. Bilbo looked down at his gun and wished again that he'd saved at least one bullet. Not that it would have been entirely helpful, since the noise would attract others, but…

That was their only option left, really. If they had something to make noise and distract the walker, they would be able to escape. He glanced around the tree, but there wasn't so much as a beehive that they could drop on the walker's head like in those cartoons he'd watched as a child. They needed something heavier than leaves and twigs.

Bilbo looked down at his feet and sighed.

They took their time climbing down, trying to stay close to the trunk so as to not rustle any of the branches. Once they were six or seven feet from the ground, he motioned for Kíli to stop. Before he could convince himself that this was a bad idea, he slipped off his remaining shoe and aimed it a good distance away. He tossed it, and it rustled the branches of a nearby tree as it passed through and landed in the dirt with a low _thunk_.

He held his breath and waited as the walker lifted its head with a low growl. Slowly, it turned and ambled towards the spot where his shoe had fallen.

Once it was a good distance away from the tree, Bilbo frantically motioned to Kíli, and they both jumped to the ground and took off. He took a moment to lament the loss of both of his shoes, though they certainly weren't worth risking his life.

Whether or not the walker had heard their escape and decided to pursue them, he didn't know. He didn't look back, only scanning the woods in front of them to make sure they didn't run into any more, and that Kíli did not fall too far behind.

The woods seemed to have cleared up from the previous night, though he didn't let up his guard. The walkers were rather slow, and even if they had left the area, they couldn't have gone far.

After a few minutes, the looming shape of the motel came into sight through the trees. Kíli tugged on his hand and gave him a questioning glance, but Bilbo shook his head.

"There's nothing left for us there." All of their supplies would have been in the vehicles, and he wasn't keen to see if the motel was still filled with walkers. "We'll have to stick to the road, see if we can find the rest of the group."

Bilbo thought he could still hear growling coming from the building, so he gave it a wide berth on their way to reach the road. He thought it would be better to walk in the center, as they would see any walkers trying to sneak up on them, and he was less likely to puncture his foot on a broken branch. If the others decided to come back and check the motel, hopefully they would run into them on the road.

They walked in silence for the better part of an hour, still exhausted and shaken up by the events of the previous night, but eventually Kíli announced that he was hungry.

"So am I," Bilbo replied with a sigh. Between them, they had only the clothes on their backs, an empty gun, and one pair of shoes. "We'll try to find something soon, all right?"

He wasn't confident enough to make that a promise. The road stretched before them, with trees looming on either side, and he had no idea how far they would be able to make it.

But they had to try.

**Oh hello did someone order some angst? Speaking of, if you are in the mood for more Martin Freeman surviving in a zombie apocalypse, I recommend the movie Cargo, it's super angsty but really good!**

**I know they're all technically humans in this au, but JRR Tolkien himself appeared in my dream and said I had to take away Bilbo's shoes...so here we are**

**Also, slightly off topic but I've been watching a lot of Jack Black's youtube channel and his youngest son totally reminds me of this fic's version of Kili. Subscribe to Jablinski Games**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"We could still make for the coast. Find a few boats, maybe make it to an island. Wait this whole thing out."

Thorin stared at the map until the lines began to waver in his vision. Nori was still talking, but he wasn't really hearing him. It had been hard to focus—hard to think—since they had made camp after leaving the motel.

They'd cleared out all the buildings on the block and lined up the RV and some dumpsters to create a makeshift barrier across one end of the street. It had made a relatively safe camp for the day, but they all knew it was temporary.

Nori had been the first to start suggesting other places to stay. The coast, a prison, a warehouse—they were all viable options, but support from others had been lukewarm at best. Everyone was still in shock.

"We'll have to get moving eventually," Nori said, "and I'd rather it be soon. We don't know when that herd is going to catch up to us."

Thorin straightened up with a sigh. "You're right." He glanced at the dusty clock on the wall of the convenience store they were standing in. It was almost noon. Most of the shelves in the place had been stripped bare, but the counter by the register was large enough for them to spread out the map.

He'd been surprised to learn that it was Bilbo who had provided it. Looking over it now, he could see circles penned in black ink next to notes in neat, round handwriting. It was the only thing they had left of him, and even though he'd been in their group for a relatively short time, the thought brought an ache to his chest.

But Nori was right. There was no use dwelling on the past, not with walkers on their tail. "We'll leave in an hour. I'll tell everyone to start packing up."

He left the convenience store, stepping out into the sunlight. The breeze carried the barest hint of a chill, a warning that autumn would be on its way soon.

When he had last been outside, the rest of the group had either been resting in the RV or helping Bofur and Bombur take apart some of the tables in a nearby restaurant to help barricade their small camp. It wasn't necessary, but the work provided a distraction from what had happened at the motel.

Dís and Víli were standing by one of the cars, talking to Balin. Even from across the street, Thorin could sense some tension between the three, and walked closer.

"I know what you're going through, here," Balin said. "We're all grieving. But putting yourselves at risk like that—"

"We've already made up our minds," Víli said. He and his wife were both armed.

"What's going on, here?" Thorin asked, stepping up next to Balin.

"We're going back to the motel," Víli said. "We're going to look for Kíli."

Balin gave him a slight grimace, as though they'd been arguing the point for a while, and Thorin shook his head. "I can't let you do that. You won't be able to find him."

"Thorin." Dís's voice was hoarse, her eyes bloodshot. "That's our son. We have to find him. I'm not going to let him wander around as...as one of those _things_."

"And what about Fíli?" he asked, fighting to keep from raising his voice. "If the both of you leave and don't come back, what the hell is that going to do to him?"

"We'll give the lad a proper funeral once we're somewhere safe," Balin said. "But going back into that mess isn't going to help anyone."

"Listen, we're going to be smart about this," Víli said. "But you can't ask us to leave this alone, to just move on."

"No one is saying that."

"We can't split up. It's not safe." Thorin locked eyes with his brother-in-law. "I'm not letting you leave."

"We're not asking for your permission," Dís said, and he let out an exasperated sigh through his nose. He'd known his sister her whole life, and knew that he wouldn't be able to dissuade her from something like this, especially not when her sons were involved. If he denied her, she would hold it against him for the rest of her life.

Balin had known them both long enough to come to the same conclusion, and he turned to Thorin with a slight shrug.

"I expect you both back before sundown," Thorin said.

Víli nodded, shoulders relaxing slightly.

"Keep an eye on Fíli while we're gone," Dís said as she opened the car door. "Please."

He and Balin went to move one of the dumpsters so they could pull out, and watched them drive until they were out of sight.

Balin sighed and leaned a hand against the RV. "They're both grieving, but Dís is a sharp one. You shouldn't worry too much about them."

"We shouldn't be taking stupid risks like this," Thorin said, shoving the dumpster back in place. "We can't afford to. We thought we were prepared back at the motel, but one oversight cost us two members of our group." He glared down the street. "There are no second chances anymore."

"I hear you, lad." Balin reached up to clap him on the shoulder. "You'd better see how Fíli's doing. I think he's resting right now."

"Right." He turned away, forcing himself to stop looking at the spot where the car had disappeared. The wound of losing his nephew was still fresh in his heart. He couldn't bear the thought of losing anyone else in his family.

"I'll let you know as soon as they come back," Balin said, then headed for the ladder to the roof of the RV.

Thorin wiped some sweat from the back of his neck and made for the door. He nodded to Dori, Glóin, and Óin, who were sitting at the table inside, then pushed open the door to the bedroom in the back.

Fíli was lying curled up on the bed, staring listlessly at the blank wall. He lifted his gaze slightly when Thorin came in, then returned to his original position.

"Hey." He took a seat on the edge of the bed. "How...How are you feeling?"

All he received in response was a slight shrug.

His fingers tapped one knee as he tried to think of what to say next. He'd never known how to deal with the boys when they were upset. He was fine helping Fíli with his homework or playing video games with Kíli, but when it came to the more difficult side of parenting, he was lost.

For a moment, he wondered what Bilbo would have done. He'd been all but a stranger to the boys a few months ago, but in that time he'd taken care of them alone, and Fíli and Kíli seemed no worse for it.

"It wasn't your fault, what happened," he tried.

Fíli's posture grew tighter, more tense. "I should have been looking out for him. I-I thought he was right behind me, but—"

"No." Thorin put a bracing hand on his shoulder. "It wasn't up to you. And no one blames you for it."

His chest jumped with a suppressed sob. "Mom and Dad are going to look for him. And they didn't want to bring me."

"How did you…" He glanced up, and noticed for the first time that the window was open. Fíli had heard their entire conversation. "They didn't want to put you in danger. That's the last thing they'd want."

Fíli said nothing. He stayed rigid, eyes locked onto the wall with a furrowed brow.

Thorin sighed and removed his hand. Fíli had always been more reserved, less optimistic than his brother, but he'd never seen him so despondent before. He would have felt better if he'd decided to cry. He didn't know how to deal with him otherwise.

"You let me know if you need anything." He waited for a response, received none, then stood up and made for the door.

* * *

Bilbo winced as Kíli's stomach let out another growl.

They'd been walking for hours, staying to one side of the road to take advantage of the shade, and hadn't found anything in the way of food or water. Bilbo had tried scanning the brush for any berries or nuts, but with no luck.

His mouth was uncomfortably dry, and Kíli's feet were dragging. His own soles were sore from the unforgiving pavement and a few rocks he'd accidentally stepped on.

There had been no sign of the rest of their group, nor any walkers. Bilbo assumed they'd driven to the next sign of civilization, but he had no idea how far down the road that would be.

"So," he began, trying to think of something to talk about. He figured a little conversation would help distract them both from their hunger and exhaustion. "You were in school before...all this. What sort of things were they teaching you?"

Kíli shrugged. "Math and stuff. I think we were learning about the water cycle too."

"Any books?"

"I don't remember."

Bilbo gave a small hum and frowned. He'd have to find some interesting books for Fíli and Kíli to read at some point. Just because the world had ended didn't mean they couldn't have an appreciation for literature.

A white shape through the trees caught his eye, and he put a hand on Kíli's shoulder, motioning for him to stop.

It was a trailer, parked in a clearing about a dozen feet from the road. There was no vehicle to be found, but it had clearly been there for a while—it was covered in rain-smeared grime, and the windowsills were caked with dust.

Bilbo's heart leapt with both hope and anticipation. A trailer, their first evidence of civilization, meant possible supplies, but the possible threat of people as well.

"All right," he said as they drew closer. "I'm going to go in and look around. I want you to wait out here, all right?"

Kíli frowned and reached for his hand. "I don't want you to leave."

"I won't be far," Bilbo said, even as his heart ached for him. After the motel, he never wanted Kíli to feel unsafe again. "Here," he said, leading him over to a thick bush nearby. "I want you to wait here, and if you see anyone around, shout for me. And then I want you to hide, and I'll come get you as soon as I can."

Reluctantly, Kíli released his hand. "Promise you won't leave?"

"I swear it." Bilbo held his gaze until he was confidence he would do what he asked, then turned towards the trailer.

Inside, the windows were dark, and the door shut, but that was no guarantee it was empty. The last thing Bilbo wanted to do was disturb someone, especially if they were dangerous, but he needed to take that risk before one of them died of dehydration.

With one hand on his still-empty gun, Bilbo reached up and knocked. After a minute of silence, he pushed the door open.

A horrendous stench flooded out into the open air, and the sound of buzzing flies became audible. He gagged, turning away with one hand flying to his nose. The smell was a nauseating cocktail of old meat, rotting cabbage, and something else he couldn't even begin to identify.

Kíli's head peeked over the bush, eyes widening in concern, and Bilbo tried to give him a reassuring smile.

At the very least, he could be confident that no one was living in there, as he was sure no human being, perhaps not even a walker, would be able to tolerate such a smell.

Pinching his nose with one hand, Bilbo opened the door the rest of the way and stepped inside.

It was dim inside the trailer, the air clouded with dust and flies, but his attention was immediately drawn to the scene in the bedroom. Through the narrow door, a dark stain against the back wall was visible. Bilbo stepped closer, and began to shake as he caught sight of the body lying on the bed, and the gaping hole where its jaw used to be.

With a strangled groan, he turned towards the door. That was it. He was going to be sick.

He took several heaving breaths, though there was nothing he could have thrown up anyway. Feeling dizzy, Bilbo turned back to the trailer. The rest of it was surprisingly neat, barring the dead body in the back.

The next thing that caught his attention was the whiteboard propped up on one of the counters. When he stepped closer, he could make out a message scrawled in green marker.

_Dear stranger,_

_If you've found this note, it means I'm already dead, and sorry for the smell. I have no place in a world like this, but if you feel you do, you're welcome to take anything you like._

_Best of luck. _

_B_

Bilbo let out a slow breath and looked around the cramped space. As disturbing as it was to steal from a dead man's trailer, he did have permission now. And it would be a heavier weight on his conscience if he let Kíli go hungry.

He thought back to what Thorin had said when they had gone back to his apartment for the last time. _Whatever they have is more use to us than them_. With that in mind, he steeled himself and began searching the trailer for anything they might find useful.

His first step was to close the bedroom door, both to avoid looking at the grotesque body and relieve its awful smell somewhat. His next priority was the pantry, which was disappointingly sparse but thankfully not empty. He pulled out a couple of cans and a large bag of trail mix and set them on the table.

Going through the drawers, he took a pocket knife and a lighter, both of which would probably come in handy. The rest of the drawers were either empty or filled with pencils and towels and other things that didn't seem worth carrying.

Bilbo was about to move on when he glanced under the sink and a half-dozen unopened water bottles caught his eye. He let out a sigh of relief, aware of the air rushing over his parched tongue. Kneeling down, he reached out to open the first one, then stopped himself.

Kíli was still watching the trailer when he walked out, and straightened when Bilbo beckoned him over.

"Here." He unscrewed the bottle and handed it to him, struggling to swallow as a bit of water spilled onto his hand.

Kíli tipped his head back and drank in deep gulps, so quickly that Bilbo started to get a bit concerned.

"Slowly, now," he said, putting a hand on his back. "Don't want to make yourself sick."

He finished drinking with a satisfied, _ah_, and handed the bottle back. "Thanks."

Instead of responding, Bilbo tipped back the bottle and downed the quarter that was left. The water was only slightly cool, but he could feel the sensation cascade down his chest as he drank.

"All right," he said once he was finished. "There's more inside the trailer. I'm going to finish up, but I want you to wait out here, all right?"

Kíli wrinkled his nose. "It smells bad in there."

He nodded with a grimace, unsure how to explain what he'd found. "Why don't you keep lookout for me? I won't be more than a minute."

"Okay." He leaned against the trailer, hands behind his back, and Bilbo stepped back inside.

There wasn't much inside the bathroom (he didn't feel too keen on taking someone else's toothbrush), but in the closet he found a backpack. Leaning against the corner was a rifle and a box of ammunition, and after a moment's hesitation, he took that too. He didn't even know how to load it, or check if it already was, but it would be a bit more help than his empty gun.

He glanced down at his socked feet with a frown, but decided he wasn't yet at the point where he would consider prying shoes off a dead man's feet.

With his sweep completed, he stuffed the food, water, and ammo into the backpack, slung the rifle over his shoulder, and stepped back outside.

"Ready to go?" he asked Kíli, who nodded.

"Is there any more water?" he asked as they began walking.

"Yes." Bilbo reached into his pack. "But we should try to make it last. We don't know when's the next time we'll be able to get some more."

Kíli accepted the bottle and drank, more slowly this time, making sure to leave half of it left over. Bilbo smiled and stowed it away again.

They stepped back onto the road, and with the sun shining down and the reassuring weight of supplies on his shoulders, his heart felt lighter than it had in days.

"Would you like something to eat?" Bilbo asked, already pulling out the trail mix since he knew what the answer would be.

Kíli eagerly accepted the bag and munched on it as they walked. Bilbo could feel his stomach rumble at the sight of food, but he knew he could go hungry for longer. After a while, he noticed he was only picking out the bits of chocolate and raisins.

"You know, you should be eating the nuts, too."

He shoved another raisin into his mouth. "I don't like peanuts."

Bilbo sighed and shook his head. Over the weeks that he had lived with the boys in his apartment, he'd learned rather quickly that Kíli was a picky eater. Fíli had similar preferences, but was more likely to eat what was in front of him without complaint. Thinking of the older boy made his heart ache, so he put it out of his head.

"To be fair, peanuts don't taste very good on their own. Salted and roasted, however, they can be delicious. That goes for most vegetables too."

Kíli made a disgusted noise. "I don't like vegetables."

"Well, that's only because you've never had them cooked properly. My aunt Mirabella used to make the most delicious brussels sprouts, with olive oil and salt and some other sauce that she never revealed to anyone." His stomach gave another growl at that.

"What's brussels sprouts?"

He decided not to answer that. "Just eat some of the nuts, all right? If you only eat the sweet bits then you'll get hungry faster."

"I'll eat them after." Kíli buried his hand in the bag nearly up to his wrist in search of another chocolate bit.

Bilbo adjusted the straps of the backpack with a low grumble. He'd never had to try too hard in disciplining Kíli, as his brother had done a fine enough job of keeping him in line. Besides, he'd never deemed anything dreadfully important besides making sure they didn't do anything irresponsible that would lead them to the jaws of a walker. But in this case, he did want to make sure Kíli wasn't malnourished by the time he returned him to his parents.

He reached over to scoop a peanut out of the bag and held it up. "Open your mouth."

Kíli eyed him skeptically for a moment, then did as he was asked. Bilbo tossed it the short distance inside, and he instinctively bit down and chewed on it. He made a face and swallowed.

"Still tastes bad." He took out another peanut and held it out. "Your turn."

"All right." Bilbo dutifully opened his mouth, then laughed as the peanut hit his cheek and fell to the ground.

They went back and forth until the bag was halfway empty, and a trail of peanuts marked their path down the road. Bilbo knew it probably wasn't wise to be wasting so much of their food, but he hadn't seen Kíli grin this much since before the motel had been overrun.

The sun was setting by the time they reached the next sign of civilization—a gas station tucked between two clusters of pine.

Bilbo made Kíli hide while he checked the area, but the front area was empty, as was the small store in the back.

The shelves had been cleared out entirely, though Bilbo did manage to find a few bags of chips and some candy bars in some hidden corners.

"Look." Kíli approached with a liter bottle of soda clutched between both hands.

Bilbo glanced towards the fridges lining the back wall. The power had gone out, so none of the bottles were cold anymore. He took the soda from Kíli with a frown.

"I'm not sure if this is good anymore." He twisted it open and gave a tentative sniff. The soda had gone flat, but it didn't seem to have gone bad. With however many chemicals were in it, he wasn't sure if it _could_ go bad. Besides, they'd drank another two water bottles between them on the way here, their thirst not having been helped at all by the peanuts. They weren't exactly in a position to be picky.

He took an experimental swig of the soda and hummed at the taste. It didn't taste very good, but he'd take it over a dry throat. He handed it back to Kíli, who took a drink as well and nearly tipped over the bottle with his smaller hands.

"It's not bubbly anymore." Kíli looked down at it with a frown, then reached for the cap.

Bilbo decided to leave him to it, and took another look around the store. It would be a good place to stop for the night, though he would have to find a way to block the door in case any walkers wandered in. Perhaps he could move some of the shelves.

A swishing noise sounded behind him, and he turned to see Kíli vigorously shaking the closed bottle of soda.

"What are you—"

With an uncharacteristic amount of focus, Kíli opened the bottle again and held it out. A small layer of fizz rose to the top, but none of it spilled over.

"I thought it would make more bubbles." He closed the bottle again.

"You would have made a mess all over the floor." Bilbo put his hands on his hips, though he couldn't hide his smile. "No more of that nonsense, all right? I'm going to start dinner for us."

Dinner consisted of a can of beans split between the two of them, carefully pried open with his new pocket knife, as well as their packets of chips and candy. Bilbo didn't know how long it would be until they found more food, or if he should be rationing it more carefully, but they were both hungry and tired and he thought they deserved a good meal after a day of walking.

Though the shelves were too heavy to move, he managed to push some of the smaller racks against the doors, and placed some empty cans and bottles on top. If anyone tried pushing on the doors, they would fall and hopefully the noise would wake them.

Night had fallen by the time they settled down at the back of the store. Bilbo gave Kíli his backpack as a pillow of sorts, settled the rifle on his other side, and laid down on the tile. As far as places to sleep went, it was below a bed but decidedly above a tree branch. He was exhausted enough that sleep was already beginning to seep into his limbs.

He thought Kíli was also asleep, but his eyes fluttered open as he mumbled, "D'you think we're gonna find our family?"

Bilbo took a moment to ponder the word _our_, then decided that perhaps he was too tired to choose his words correctly. "I certainly hope so. We'll keep looking tomorrow, all right?"

"I hope Fee…" Kíli started, but the rest of his sentence was lost to uncannily still silence of the room, and a minute later, his breathing evened out, and Bilbo knew he was asleep.

It wasn't long before his own eyes drifted closed, and he wasn't quite conscious enough to hear the low rumble of a car engine passing by.

* * *

Against Thorin's wishes, they'd spent the night in the same spot.

Dís and Víli had come back exhausted and dejected, having found no sign of Kíli or Bilbo—dead or alive. That had been enough to lower everyone's spirits, and Nori had reasoned that they'd be safer waiting until daytime to start traveling.

Víli had informed him that the herd that had attacked the motel had dispersed somewhat, and they'd taken a detour into a campground to lure them away from the rest of the group.

Now, as day broke, Thorin was helping to load the remainder of their supplies into his car. They were nearly ready to leave, and Nori had already outlined a route west, towards the coast.

Bombur let out a low, short whistle, and everyone turned to him. He gestured down the road, to the end they hadn't blocked with the RV, and Thorin tensed as he spotted a man walking towards them.

He was bald, and bulky enough that his arms swung at his sides as he walked. His hands were empty, but the gun at his hip was visible.

Immediately, everyone had their weapons drawn and aimed at the stranger.

"Oi, no need for that." The man held up his hands in surrender, but continued in advance. "I come in peace. The name's Tom."

"You stay where you are," Thorin said, striding to the front of the group with his gun raised.

Tom took a couple more steps, then stopped. "I don't want any trouble, see. I was just hoping for a bit of a trade."

"We're not looking to bargain with anyone."

Next to him, Víli glanced around with a frown. "Doesn't look like you have anything to trade with."

"Who's we?" Dwalin muttered, apparently loud enough for Tom to hear. He lifted one finger upwards.

"I've got a friend or two with me."

They realized he was pointing, and looked up. Three stories above, a man just as burly as the first was standing on the roof of a nearby building, aiming a rifle down at them.

"That's Bert."

On the other side of the camp, Ori let out a yelp. A third man had climbed atop the RV and wrestled the rifle from his hands. He seized him by the shoulders and threw him to the ground. Ori let out a pained grunt as he hit the ground, and Dori stepped forward with a growl.

"You son of a _bitch_." He raised his gun, but froze as the rifle on the roof went off, and a bullet _pinged_ at his feet.

"And that's our friend William."

With adrenaline thrumming in his veins, Thorin turned to glare at Tom, and grudgingly motioned for the group to lower their weapons.

Tom smiled widely and drew his own gun. "Now, how's about we figure out a trade?"

**Someone was sharp enough to guess that the men from chapter 3 were the trolls. I originally wasn't going to have them reappear because I didn't have a spot for them, but they decided to show up anyway.**

**I enjoyed writing Bilbo&Kili shenanigans in his chapter, though I feel bad about leaving Fili depressed in the RV...**

**I haven't read much fics about Dis and Vili as parents, but I decided to make them just a little bit headass. I figured they're young parents, probably met in college, still trying to figure this whole thing out.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Bilbo winced and stretched his neck again. Sleeping on a tile floor had done a number on his back, and even after hours of walking he was still sore.

Beside him, Kíli stayed close, having fallen into a subdued silence earlier. They'd passed some campgrounds about a mile back, and though Bilbo had been tempted to see if their group was somewhere there, the place had been too infested with walkers.

His feet hurt as well, and he was considering calling a short rest when they rounded a corner and the white shape of the RV came into view.

He let out a short gasp, heart leaping. Briefly, he considered that it might be a similar one belonging to someone else, but as he drew closer, he could see a familiar dent in the side that confirmed it was theirs.

Kíli seemed to have come to a similar conclusion, and looked up at him with a hopeful grin. "Is that it?"

Bilbo smiled and opened his mouth to reply, but he froze as his gaze was drawn to the man standing atop the RV. His wide shoulders and bald head were unfamiliar, and a trickle of dread doused his hope.

"Something's wrong." He gripped Kíli's shoulder and steered them off the road and into the trees. The man's back was to them, but the rifle in his hands was warning enough.

As he crept closer and strained his ears, he could hear a faint commotion behind the RV. It had been parked sideways, with two dumpsters blocking the rest of the street, so he couldn't see much. But the low voices assured him that at least some of the members of their group were still alive.

Their group must have been attacked, or at the very least threatened. His mind was already whirring through dreadful possibilities—blood on the pavement, screams and smoke, more sound to draw another group of walkers. He and Kíli had picked a terrible time to announce that they weren't dead. But then again, if they were on the outside of this situation looking in, there was a possibility they'd be able to save the rest of their group.

Bilbo sighed and touched the rifle slung on his shoulder. He was no fighter, and he had a child to look after besides. What could he do where the others had failed?

A low growl just ahead made them both freeze. A walker was staggering through the forest just a few feet ahead. Bilbo pulled Kíli behind a tree, where they crouched down and watched the walker continue, drawn to the noises coming from behind the RV. It bumped into the dumpster and snarled, scratching at the rusted metal.

"Oi, what was that, Will?" came a voice from behind the RV.

The man standing on the vehicle's roof turned around, and Bilbo's mouth fell open. He recognized the man—he had been one of the three that had tried to follow him back to his apartment.

"Just another biter." Will raised his rifle. "I'll take care of it."

"No gunshots."

"All right." With a low grumble, he made to climb off the RV.

It was possible this would be his only chance to act. With his heart pounding, he turned to Kíli. "I want you to hide here, all right? I'm going to try and get rid of these men."

Wide eyed, Kíli looked as if he wanted to protest, but seemed to realize the urgency of the situation. After a moment, he nodded.

Bilbo slung the rifle off his shoulder and crept through the woods. The way he'd phrased it—_get rid of_—didn't quite sit well with him. He had no intention of killing these men if he could help it, but he couldn't let them threaten his friends either.

As Will's feet hit the ground, the walker turned to him with a growl. He reversed his grip on his rifle and slammed the butt into its jaw. The walker fell and reached up for him, but he slammed the rifle down again, coating the end with dark blood. The soft bone of its skull cracked, and the walker finally fell still.

Gathering his courage, Bilbo stepped out from the trees and aimed his rifle at Will. "Drop the gun," he hissed.

Will started and partially raised his rifle, then realized he would not be able to fire it in time and let it fall to the ground.

So far his bluff had worked. Bilbo tried to stop his hands from shaking and took another step forward. "Now, kick it over this way."

He did as he was told, then narrowed his eyes. "Hang on, aren't you—"

"Not a word, or I _will_ shoot. I-I mean it."

"Oi, Will?" the other man called. "Everything all right?"

Will stammered silently for a moment, as though he was unsure if Bilbo would fire at him if he decided to respond.

"Tell him everything's fine," Bilbo whispered. His palms were sweating. "Tell him you have to take care of more of the, uh, biters."

"Everything's fine," he said. "I have to take care of more of the biters."

There was no response for a moment, and Bilbo began to fear Will's answer hadn't been convincing enough.

"All right, then," came the reply, and his shoulders sagged in relief. "Don't take too long, eh? This lot's almost finished packing up the supplies."

Of course they would try and steal from them. Bilbo scowled and reaffirmed his grip on his rifle. He wasn't quite sure what to do with Will now, as he couldn't exactly hold him at gunpoint while he dealt with the other two.

The brush rustled behind him, and he glanced back. Kíli was crouching partially behind a bush, face pale, and he emphatically pointed to his right, where another walker was stumbling towards him.

Shoes scraped along the pavement, and Bilbo turned back to see Will lunge for the rifle on the ground. He gasped, panic seizing his limbs for a moment, then stepped forward and cracked the butt of his rifle down upon his head. The impact was enough to break the skin, leaving a small gash on the back of his bald head, and he fell facedown. Bilbo stared at him, trembling, and relaxed slightly as he registered the faint rise and fall of his breath.

A low growl caught his attention, and he remembered that he was not entirely in the clear. He raised his rifle as the walker approached and swung the end at its head, trying his best to copy what he'd seen Will do. The walker staggered but didn't fall, and Bilbo tried again with gritted teeth. When it finally collapsed, he hit it again, wincing as blood welled up from the wound. The walker lay still.

Kíli came out from his hiding spot, eyes wide as he gazed at the downed man. "Did you kill him?"

"No. No, I didn't." Bilbo shook himself. Killing walkers was one thing, but hurting another living person was entirely different. Even though Will had been the one trying to attack him, striking him down like that had felt _awful_.

He couldn't allow himself to fully ponder that just yet—he still had to rescue the rest of their group. Motioning for Kíli to stay close, he crept closer to the RV and peered into the gap between the vehicle and one of the dumpsters.

Nori, Thorin, and Bombur were busy loading all of their supplies into Dwalin's truck, while the rest of the group stood in a tense knot off to one side. Nearby, another one of the men was standing with his thick arms crossed, watching their progress.

Bilbo frowned. The man had a gun in one hand, but it was held loosely. Any two of their group could have easily overpowered him. And where was the third one?

Occasionally, one of the group would glance upwards, and he followed their gaze to the roof of one of the buildings. It was mostly obscured by a few overhanging tree branches (this, he supposed, was why Will had been on lookout at this end) but he could guess this was where the third man was standing. From there, he would have a decent view of the whole street, and with just one rifle would be able to keep the group in check if any of them decided to act out.

Kíli had crouched down to get a better look, and let out a small gasp as he spotted his family. Bilbo put a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to be quiet.

"Look," he whispered. "There's a man on the roof that's threatening everyone. I'm going to try and stop him, and then we'll be able to get to your family, all right?"

They crept past the dumpster and around the building, which was probably a storefront with some apartments on the upper floors. Bilbo reached the back door and tried it, then cursed under his breath as he realized it was locked.

Going around front was too risky, as they risked being spotted. The only other point of entry was a small open window about six feet off the ground, and Bilbo knew that even if he managed to get up there, he would not be able to fit through.

He turned to Kíli. As much as he hated putting him in any sort of risky situation, they needed to act quickly before their supplies were stolen. At the very least, he could trust that their group had cleared out any walkers that would be in the building.

"If I get you through that window, do you think you could go round and unlock this door for me?"

Kíli glanced at the window, then back at him with a small frown.

"I'm not going to force you." He took a deep breath, trying not to let the urgency show on his face. "But it would help me a great deal, and we don't have much time—"

"Okay." He straightened and walked towards the window. "I'll do it."

"Thank you." Bilbo crouched down and lifted him up with a grunt. Kíli was lighter than he'd been expecting, though it took a few moments of wobbling and clambering before he was able to get a grip on the windowsill. Bilbo supported his legs until he was able to get his balance and climb through.

He braced himself, expecting a crash or commotion on the other side, but apparently Kíli had managed to stay silent, and a moment later the door opened.

"Good job." Bilbo squeezed his shoulder as he stepped inside. Kíli smiled, some of the tension in his shoulders lessening.

The door led to the back of what appeared to be a restaurant. The kitchen was visible from where they stood, and he set off in search of the stairs that would lead to the upper floors.

"Oi, Will! We're ready to go!" the man shouted from outside. "Where are you?"

Bilbo tensed. They didn't have much time. He hurried up the stairs, Kíli right on his heels, and swung the rifle from his shoulder. When they reached the flight leading to the roof, he stopped and turned to him.

"Wait here, all right?"

"What if—" He took a hesitant step up the stairs. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yes," Bilbo said, though he couldn't ignore the pounding of his heart. "I'll come back down when it's safe."

He turned and sprinted up the last flight. The metal door leading to the roof creaked as he opened it, and it was all he could do to hold up his rifle as the man spun around.

"What the hell?"

He took a couple of steps closer. "D-Drop your weapon."

"Bert?" came the call from below. "Everything all right?"

"You're outnumbered." Breathing hard, Bilbo continued his advance. "I...I've already taken care of your friend. Just drop the gun, and I won't hurt you."

His rifle was pointed at the ground, but still held in both hands. Bert glanced backwards, as though considering calling out for help, but evidently there was no point. He dropped the gun, the clatter of it against the ground making Bilbo flinch slightly.

"Right." Once again, he wasn't quite sure where to go from here. He stepped closer, looking him up and down. He was fairly sure there was something else he was supposed to do, like they did in the detective shows he used to watch, but his mind was blank as adrenaline continued to surge through his veins.

A gunshot cracked open the tense silence, and Bilbo jumped. The rifle in his hands hadn't gone off, so he could only conclude that something had happened below. He glanced towards the edge of the roof, and in that split second Bert lunged for him.

Bilbo raised the gun, finger fumbling for the trigger, but the man was deceptively fast for his size, seizing the rifle and trying to wrest it from his grip. He let out a grunt and held on for dear life, knowing if he let go he would die.

Bert was much stronger than him, and thrust the barrel forward to try and aim it at his head. Bilbo leaned away, his muscles straining painfully as he tried to hold on. Bert jerked the rifle again with enough force to throw him off balance.

He slammed into the concrete, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs, and Bert followed him down, pressing the rifle into his throat. Bilbo choked and gasped for air, but the pressure on his windpipe prevented anything from getting through. He gripped the rifle and tried to push upwards, but from this angle he couldn't manage to lift it even an inch.

Bert's eyes were dark, his jaw thrust forward in determination as he continued to push downwards. Dark spots were beginning to crackle in his vision. He tried to call out for help, hoping someone below would hear him, but nothing came out. The pressure on his throat had grown painful, a burning sensation enveloping the area even as his struggles grew weaker.

Blackness swallowed up his vision, the ringing in his ears beginning to fade, and he thought, very faintly, that he could hear another gunshot.

He had no idea if it was a second or an hour later, but the pressure on his throat was lifted, and a gust of blessed air filled his aching windpipe. It hurt just as much coming out, but he could only wheeze and draw in another breath.

The rifle was taken from his neck, and a pair of strong, steady hands lifted him to his feet.

"Are you all right?" Thorin asked.

Bilbo swayed on his feet, and was certain he would have fallen over if Thorin hadn't still been gripping his shoulders. His vision began to clear, and he looked up to see a pair of bright blue eyes, wide with concern, staring down at him.

"How…" He winced. It hurt more to speak than it did to breathe. He turned around and froze.

Bert was spread-eagled on his back only a couple feet away, the flesh on the side of his head torn by a bullet. His eyes were blank, his expression one of mild shock.

Horror crawled across his skin, and he took an unsteady step back, letting out a wheezing cough.

"Hey, stay with me, all right?" Thorin still had a hand on his back, as though afraid he was going to tip over again.

Bilbo took another breath as ringing filled his ears again. "I think I need to…"

And tip over he did.

* * *

Thorin cursed, bending over to catch Bilbo as he fell. He had gone completely limp, head lolling to the side as Thorin shifted his grip and scooped him up. He seemed to be breathing normally, which was his main concern, but he'd let Óin do the actual examining.

He carried him across the roof, back towards the door. A dark purple bruise was already beginning to spread across Bilbo's throat, and Thorin cursed under his breath. He'd almost been too late.

As soon as the first lookout had disappeared behind the RV, the group had been on high alert, knowing that a narrow chance for escape might be approaching. When the man on the roof had become distracted, Glóin had shot the third in the head—a rash move in his opinion, but one that had worked in their favor.

Thorin nudged open the roof door with one foot. Kíli was standing at the foot of the stairwell, wide eyes gleaming in the light shining through. It had been a hard shock finding his nephew alive and well, but his main priority had been getting to the roof and taking out their final assailant.

Now, as he descended, he smiled at Kíli and started to ask if he was all right, but the boy's attention was focused on the man in his arms.

"Is Bilbo okay?" He moved up a few steps, then backtracked to make room for Thorin. "What happened?"

"He'll be fine," he replied, shifting his grip with a slight grimace. Bilbo was one of the smaller members of their group, but by no means light. "Let's get downstairs, all right?"

"Okay!" Kíli sprinted ahead, nearly tumbling down the next flight of stairs in his haste, and by the time Thorin reached the ground floor, he was already wrapped up in the embrace of his brother and parents.

"I heard the gunshot," Nori said, approaching him. "You got the guy on the roof?"

Thorin nodded and set Bilbo down on the sidewalk, careful not to knock his head against the ground. "Óin! I need you."

Their resident doctor made his way over to them and knelt down next to Bilbo. "Tell me what happened."

"He was on the roof with the other guy, getting strangled by his rifle. I shot him, and he passed out when he saw the body." Thorin shook his head, but he couldn't bring himself to be entirely exasperated with Bilbo.

"Where the hell are his shoes?" Nori asked.

Bilbo was indeed not wearing any shoes. His socks were almost worn through at the soles.

Óin stood up, apparently done with his inspection. "As long as he wakes up soon, he should be fine. Probably with one hell of a sore throat, though."

Nori crossed his arms. "I have so many questions."

"I'm sure we all do." Thorin stood up as well and looked over to the rest of his family. Kíli was gesticulating wildly, or as wildly as he could with Fíli's arm slung over his shoulders, as he recounted the events of the past couple of days.

"And then he lifted me up, and I went through the window like a spy, and then we were—"

"Come on," he called to the rest of the group. He bent down to pick up Bilbo again. "Let's get out of here. I'm done with this place."

* * *

_His throat hurt something awful. He let out a low groan, reaching up to rub his neck, but something was pinning him in place._

_The low growl of a walker sounded just above him, and he tensed, blinking frantically against the blurry dark. He tried to quiet his breaths as they came in short, panicked gasps. Perhaps if he stayed still and quiet, it would pass over him._

_Cool, putrid breath washed over his face, and he still couldn't move, couldn't even scream as grimy teeth clamped around his throat—_

Bilbo gasped, eyes flying open, and blinked in terror even as his body remained caught in the stillness of sleep. As soon as he could move, he sat up, taking in the confined, rocking space around him.

"Hey, he's awake." Fíli's familiar voice was enough to orient him, and he took a shuddering breath. He was on the couch in the RV. He turned to see Fíli, Kíli, and their parents sitting at the table on the other side of the vehicle, looking at him with varying degrees of concern and affection.

He slid his feet onto the floor and leaned back. It hurt to breathe, and slightly more so to swallow, but as he felt along his neck, he could feel no bite marks.

His pain was forgotten, however, as Fíli stood up and crossed the small space to wrap his arms around his shoulders. "Thank you for saving Kíli."

Bilbo returned the embrace, a smile spreading on his lips. Over Fíli's shoulder, he could see Dís and Víli looking at him with such warmth that he could feel his cheeks redden.

When Fíli pulled back, he said, "It's good to see you again."

"And me!" Kíli leapt up from his seat and planted himself next to Fíli. "You were asleep forever."

"Kíli," his father scolded, though there was no real heat behind it. "Bilbo was injured. There's nothing wrong with him resting."

"How long was I out?" Bilbo asked, then cleared his throat. Through the opposite window, he could see trees whipping by, outlined in red and orange by the setting sun.

"Only a few hours," Víli said. "We're heading to the coast, now. Shouldn't be more than a day."

"I don't know how to thank you for what you did," Dís said, motioning for the boys to sit down. "Really, without you—"

"Please." Bilbo shook his head, feeling heat gather on his cheeks. "It was no trouble. Well, no more than we were already in."

"How did you get out of the motel?" Víli asked.

So Bilbo recounted what had happened after the walker had fallen on top of him during their initial escape. Kíli chimed in occasionally to mention the lack of bubbles in the soda or reiterate his heroic climbing through the window.

"You're like a spy," Fíli said once he'd finished.

Bilbo shook his head again. None of it had felt particularly cinematic at the time, and his feet were still sore.

The image of Bert's body, lying in a pool of blood spreading from his mangled head, flashed in his vision. He wondered suddenly what had happened to Will after he had left him unconscious in the middle of the street. Had the group just left him there to wake up and find his friends dead? Or what if another walker had come across his prone body and…

A sudden wave of chills crawled up his arm, and the warm interior of the RV began to feel a bit cramped.

"Excuse me." He stood up, putting one hand on the wall to steady himself, and made for the front of the vehicle. He needed some space.

The passenger seat was empty, and he made a beeline for that. He paused momentarily, seeing Thorin in the driver's seat, but he probably wouldn't speak to him at all, and that would give him some time to think.

Thorin spared him a split-second glance as he sat down, but said nothing. Bilbo leaned against the side window, relishing in the cool sensation of the glass against his temple.

The image wouldn't leave his mind. Bert had been trying to kill him, and he had every right to be glad that he was dead, but there was something about it that felt just _wrong_. Killing walkers was one thing—it was essentially killing what was already dead—but to do it to another person…

Bilbo sighed, one hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. He hadn't even been the one to pull the trigger, yet he felt as though he'd played some part in Bert's death.

He glanced at Thorin, wondering if that had been the first person he'd killed. He seemed calm and collected as ever, and from what he could remember from the rooftop before he'd passed out, he hadn't seemed shaken up in the slightest. Though he didn't seem like the type to agonize over his decisions anyway.

At any rate, Thorin's actions had saved his life.

"I suppose I should thank you," he said, then cleared his throat again with a wince. He'd have to ask Óin how long the effects of getting strangled were supposed to last. "That man probably would have killed me if you hadn't gotten there in time."

Thorin let out a low humming noise, and Bilbo could have sworn he could feel his deep voice vibrating through the air between them. "Stroke of luck. I would have thought that first lookout would have taken you out."

Bilbo let out a short huff and turned away. He'd only been trying to give a simple thank you, and Thorin had gone straight to insulting him. "Well, I would have thought that you'd have been able to handle three against fifteen."

The glance he received was sharp and reprimanding, but there was a hint of grudging respect in his voice as he said, "Well, we all owe you one." He was silent for a moment before adding, "And I'm sorry for leaving you behind at the motel."

He shrugged. Even after weeks of living with the group, it was still difficult to get a read on him. One minute he seemed to think Bilbo couldn't so much as chop his own vegetables, but in the next he seemed to truly respect him. "If you hadn't left me, then there wouldn't have been anyone to take care of Kíli, so...no harm done." A few seconds of silence ticked by, then he asked, "Are we even now?"

"Even?"

"Well, you were angry with me about…" He paused, remembering that the RV was a rather small space and Dís and Víli could likely hear everything he was saying. "The thing we talked about that first day."

Thorin didn't respond immediately, and Bilbo was prepared to take that as a no. He let out a small sigh and clasped his hands together. If Thorin didn't like him, then there was nothing to be done for it, but he couldn't help but wish there was a little more warmth between them.

"It was never about being even," Thorin finally said, and that was the end of the conversation.

Bilbo didn't really know what to make of his words until a few days later. Their trip to the coast had been delayed, since it seemed everyone else had had the same idea, and most of the roads were blocked or overrun with walkers.

They'd backtracked into a wooded area and made camp in an abandoned neighborhood. Bilbo was helping Bombur put up the awning to the RV when he heard Thorin call his name.

He was standing by his car, and when Bilbo approached, climbed in without a word. Bilbo took the passenger seat, noting the pair of rifles tucked against the driver's side door.

"Where are we going?"

"Not far." Thorin started the car and pulled out of the driveway.

Bilbo rolled his eyes and supposed he should have asked a more specific question. He glanced at the rifles again. Perhaps Thorin was taking him hunting. They'd been rather pressed for food since they'd been on the road, especially as supplies got more scarce the closer they got to the coast. Bifur and Glóin had come back with a whole deer the other day, and though it had been rather gruesome to see them prepare it, they'd all been glad for some fresh meat.

They pulled to a stop next to an abandoned liquor store, and Bilbo's confusion grew. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much as a glass of wine, and something told him this had been one of the first places to be raided once the world had ended.

He didn't think Thorin would want anyone to be under the influence while they were on the road, strict as he had been about their security measures after the incident with the three men. But a small part of him wondered what Thorin would be like after a few beers. Perhaps he'd be more relaxed, more prone to smile and laughter, and the lines of stress would ease on his handsome face.

Bilbo was shaken out of his little fantasy as Thorin parked the car and picked up the rifles. "I thought you could use some practice with shooting one of these."

"Oh." He straightened, and followed suit as Thorin stepped out of the car. He supposed that was why they were a few miles away from the rest of the group—if the gunshots attracted any walkers, then their camp wouldn't be in danger.

"Kíli tells me you're decent with a handgun," he continued, heading for the store.

"Well, I think he might be exaggerating," Bilbo said with an awkward laugh. "But I wouldn't mind the practice."

The glass door swung open easily, and it was just as Bilbo suspected—the shelves had all been cleared out, and the floor was a mess of broken and empty bottles. Thorin picked one up, and Bilbo realized he probably meant to use them as targets and went to help him collect a few.

Once they'd gathered eight empty bottles, Thorin set them up on the series of poles between the sidewalk and the parking lot. He motioned for Bilbo to stand at one end and handed him a rifle.

"Have you fired one of these before?"

"Well, no." Bilbo shifted his weight and swallowed. His throat was still sore. "Mostly just threatened to."

"Hold it higher." Thorin adjusted his grip, his fingers brushing the underside of his arm and leaving strange tingles behind.

Bilbo took a deep breath and aimed at the nearest bottle. He pulled the trigger and winced as the rifle jerked back against his shoulder. Where the bullet had gone, he had no idea, but it hadn't hit any of the bottles.

"You have to lean into it," Thorin said, briefly placing a hand on his shoulder, and Bilbo tried not to fixate on the touch too much. "Pull that lever up and back."

He followed his instructions, causing the empty casing to pop out and fall to the ground, then pushed the lever back into place. "Isn't this kind of a waste of bullets?"

"If it saves your life later on, then it's worth the ammo." Thorin motioned for him to fire again.

Bilbo braced himself for the kickback and squeezed the trigger. One of the bottles shattered—though it hadn't been the one he was aiming for—and he grinned. It took him only a few minutes to break the rest of the bottles, with Thorin stopping halfway through to show him how to reload. His shoulder was sore by the end of it, but he felt a sense of accomplishment nonetheless.

"I suppose it'll probably be harder to shoot a moving target," he said as they began walking back to the car.

"There's your chance." Thorin gestured across the street, where a walker was limping towards them.

Bilbo raised his rifle and hesitated. The walker was a good fifty feet away, farther than any of the bottles had been. But at Thorin's prompting gesture, he took aim and fired.

His first shot missed, and he fumbled with the lever to reload, feeling his cheeks heat up at Thorin's expectant gaze. He took a deep breath and aimed again. It was only one walker, and even if it had been fifty, he couldn't let himself freeze up like this. He fired again, and blood spurted from the side of the walker's head. It spun to the side and fell.

Bilbo lowered his rifle with a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived as the walker stirred and made to stand up.

"I think you just got its ear," Thorin said. He raised his own rifle and fired, and the walker's brains spilled onto the asphalt like wine from a broken bottle.

He cleared his throat, torn between feeling defensive and envious, both of which were rather unjustified.

But his spirits lifted as Thorin took his rifle and said, "Kíli might not have been exaggerating after all."

And Bilbo allowed himself a small smile as they both climbed back into the car.

**If you're in the mood for more Bilbo/Thorin sexually charged weapons training, feel free to check out my oneshot Archery Lessons!**

**And would it really be a zombie story if I didn't have the protagonist boost their smaller companion to a hard-to-reach space?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Thorin shot another glare at the fuel gauge, then jabbed the heel of his hand into the car horn a few times, making Ori jump in the passenger seat. In front of him, Dwalin's truck and the RV pulled to a stop, and Bilbo's car slowed behind him.

Bombur stuck his head out the RV door. "Something wrong?"

He shoved the door open and climbed out. "Almost out of gas."

"We could squeeze you guys into the RV. It'd be a tight fit, but we could make it work."

Thorin shook his head and leaned against the hood of his car. More doors began to open as everyone climbed out. "We need to turn back. We've been tracing the coast for days, and we've barely found any food or gas."

Nori stepped out of the RV. "What makes you think we'll have better luck inland?"

It was a chilling thought, that food might have just run out that quickly. In a world with walking corpses and violent looters, it was strange to think starvation would be the thing to take them in the end.

"I don't know for sure what we'll find elsewhere." He crossed his arms. "But we've had shit luck on the coast so far."

"We might just not be looking in the right places." Nori shrugged.

"And what does that mean?" Thorin straightened and walked towards him. "What places should we be looking instead?"

"How should I know?" he replied, his casual tone only hiking Thorin's temper. "I don't really understand why I'm the only one coming up with ideas around here."

Thorin's hands curled into fists, but Balin intervened before the tension between them could ignite. "Now, we're all hungry and tired. Arguing amongst each other won't do any good. Bilbo?"

His head poked out the door of the RV. "Yes?"

"You still have that map with you?"

"Oh! Yes, one moment." Bilbo disappeared back inside the vehicle.

Nori let out a low whistle and gestured to the trees on the side of the road. Through the shaded area, about a dozen walkers were staggering towards them.

"Shit." Thorin gestured for everyone to get back in their cars. Over the past few weeks, they'd been dodging increasing numbers of walker mobs—another reason why he considered the coast too dangerous. He didn't even want to think what would happen if the herds all converged into a larger one.

They drove for another hour, until the RV honked for them to stop. Thorin watched as Bilbo climbed out and jogged over to his car.

"I, um, had an idea for food," he said after Thorin rolled down his window.

"What?"

Bilbo wrestled with his map for a moment as it flapped in the wind, then finally managed to maneuver it so he could point to a location at the edge. "There's an orchard not too far from here. I've been there before, for a—well, it doesn't matter. I figured we might have better luck there, since the fruit wouldn't have been ripe when most of the looting was happening."

An orchard was an option, one he hadn't really considered since they weren't in a rural area. "Go up to Dwalin's car. We'll follow your lead."

Bilbo nodded, eyes bright, and hurried towards the front.

"Sound like a smart move," Ori said once their caravan started moving again.

Thorin grunted in agreement, his thoughts lingering on Bilbo's energetic pace. He continued to surprise him with his resourcefulness and his courage, and at the end of the day, he was glad to have him in their group.

A half hour later, they reached a faded wooden sign pointing to Buckland Orchards. A narrow gravel road led to a wooden building, and just beyond were several rows of fruit trees extending about half a mile back.

The chirping of birds was interrupted as a chorus of opening doors sounded, followed by the crunch of feet on gravel. Thorin stepped out and took out his gun.

"Everyone, stay inside the car. Nori, Dwalin, Bifur, Dori, you're with me. We'll spread out, search the place. Dís, I want you to take my car and drive around the area. Keep your eyes peeled for walkers."

She frowned. "Can't we just set up a watch?"

He shook his head. "This place is too big. And I don't want to get surprised." He gestured to the group he'd selected. "Let's move."

They checked the building first, which consisted of a small shop area in front and a storage room behind. Both were empty of food and walkers.

Outside, Thorin directed Nori and to sweep the perimeter with him, while Dwalin, Bifur, and Dori combed the inside of the orchard. He moved quickly around the edge, keeping his eyes peeled even as the sun dipped towards the horizon.

A movement in the trees around the property caught his eye, and he stiffened again. A walker was moving through the brush, its clumsy footsteps rustling the undergrowth. Thorin moved closer, scanning the forest, but this one appeared to be isolated. He tucked away his gun, trading it for the knife on his belt, and jabbed the blade through the walker's eye. It fell to the ground and lay still, and he continued on.

Nori met him halfway around the border and nodded to him, lowering his gun slightly. "Anything?"

"Just a lone walker. You?"

"Nothing." He turned and nodded at the rest of their small group as they appeared through the trees. "The place looks clear."

They returned to the cars without incident, where Dís was waiting to announce that the area around the orchard was clear. Everyone relaxed at that and got out of the cars, chattering amongst themselves.

Thorin wasn't ready to let down his guard just yet, but the optimism in the group was infectious. He put his gun away and gestured to Bilbo with a slight smile. "Why don't you show us around?"

* * *

Bilbo couldn't stop grinning. It was the most relaxed he'd seen the group in weeks. Everyone had some type of fruit in hand, grinning and chatting amongst one another. Glóin was lounging in the branches of one of the sturdier trees, talking with Brana, while Víli hoisted Kíli up on his shoulders to reach a particularly high-up apple.

The orchard had been filled with mostly apples and peaches, which wasn't much variety-wise, but it was the first time in months that they were able to eat their fill.

Warmth glowed in the chest as he remembered the way Thorin had regarded him as they'd begun exploring the orchard. Even on his stern face, he could easily recognize his approval, and he'd had to look away to hide his blush.

He tried to steer his thoughts away from Thorin, who was talking with Nori at the edge of camp, and took another bite of the peach in his hand. Sticky juice had already dripped all over his palm, but it didn't bother him as much as it would have. Being on the road had forced him to get used to the grimy existence that was post-apocalyptic survival.

Even so, he made an effort to wipe his mouth as Óin joined him under the tree where he was sitting. The group had taken half a dozen electric lanterns and placed them around their camp, both to provide light and serve as an informal boundary. Thorin had still insisted they put at least three people on watch, and that everyone else stay within the limits of their camp.

Óin lowered himself onto the grass with a grunt. "How's your throat feeling?"

"Much better, thank you." One hand almost unconsciously went to touch his neck, where the bruise had only faded a few days ago.

"No long-term effects?"

"None that I'm aware of." Bilbo frowned. "I feel fine, really."

"Any trouble sleeping? Anxiety?"

"Oh." He lowered his hand and looked away. Óin wasn't talking about the physical aspects at all. He'd tried to ignore the...other results of what had happened on that rooftop. The memory of Bert's bleeding body and the pain and terror of feeling that rifle press down on his neck were both just as horrible revisiting them the twentieth time as they had been the first.

"Suppressing your trauma won't make it go away," Óin said, bringing him back to the present.

"I-If you don't mind me asking, what kind of doctor are you?"

"Just a GP. But I took some psychology classes in college...all those centuries ago," he added, making Bilbo chuckle. "I'm not qualified to diagnose you with anything, but just know we're all here if you need to talk."

"Thank you." He forced a smile. Perhaps he would, one day. But everyone already had their own worries, and this was the first time they'd been able to relax in a while. He didn't want to ruin it.

Over by the tree next to theirs, Bofur cursed as the plastic shopping bag in his hand broke, spilling peaches onto the grass. "Do we have any better containers for collecting these?"

Bifur went to help his cousin pick up the fallen fruit. "Thought I saw a few boxes up in the building."

"I can go get some." Bilbo stood up, eager for an excuse to escape before Óin continued interrogating him about his mental health.

He was halfway across camp when Brana appeared at his shoulder. "I'll come help you." She patted the gun at her hip. "Buddy system, right?"

Bilbo nodded, then waved to Dwalin, who was standing guard at the edge of camp. "We won't be gone for long."

He grunted. "Shout if you need anything."

They left the light of their camp and entered the cool shadows of the orchard. The air was filled with the chirping of insects, and Bilbo smiled as he caught sight of a few fireflies hovering above the grass. Fall was near, and this would probably be one of the last nights they were out.

"This wasn't a bad idea, coming here," Brana said as they neared the building. "Maybe we should stick to farms and orchards until this whole thing is over."

Bilbo hummed in agreement, then paused. "Do you...think this is going to be over?"

"Someday." She turned to him, her expression serious. "This isn't the first plague humanity has suffered. Things may have gone to shit now, but people always learn to rebuild."

"I hope you're right," Bilbo said, though a furrow appeared between his brows. Even if they could go back, find a cure for the whole undead thing and get humanity resettled, would the people who had lived through such horrors be able to go back to what the world had been before?

He sighed and opened the door to the building, releasing a musty odor into the quiet night. The back room was completely dark except for the moonlight coming through the door, and he wished he'd brought a flashlight as he fumbled around, searching for the boxes Bofur had talked about.

"I think five or six should be enough," he said, examining a vague wooden shape with his hands. "Since we don't have a fridge, the fruit will go bad after a while. And that's assuming we don't all get sick of it first." He turned around to find the room was empty. "Brana?"

A low retching noise reached his ears, and he hurried back out the door and peered around the corner. Brana was bent almost double with one hand braced against the wall, and he winced at the sound of bile splattering against the grass.

"Oh my god." Bilbo hurried over to pull her hair back and put his other hand on her shoulder as she took a deep, gasping breath. "Are you okay?"

She nodded and dragged a hand over her mouth with a wince.

"Are you feeling sick?" He put a hand against her forehead, but couldn't feel any fever. "I'll go get Óin."

"No." Brana straightened and leaned her back against the wall. There was a slight grayish tinge to her face, and Bilbo feared she was going to fall over. "No, it's okay."

"It doesn't look okay." He frowned. "What's going on?"

She shook her head, glancing to the side. "It's just a small stomach bug, or something. I'll be fine."

"Shouldn't Óin know about that?"

She pressed her lips together. "Okay, look. I...I've missed my last couple of periods."

"Oh." The back of his neck heated as he wondered why she was telling him this, then his eyes widened. "_Oh_."

"Seriously, it might be nothing. It's happened before when I was stressed out or wasn't eating enough, but…" Brana shrugged and looked away again.

"D-Does Glóin know about this? Or anyone else?"

She shook her head. "I'm sure you've seen it already, but they're a pretty overprotective family. I don't want anyone freaking out until I know for sure." She looked back at him. "Look, next time you're on a supply run, if you could find a pregnancy test or something…"

"Of course. I'll see what I can do." He cleared his throat. "Um, if you don't mind me asking, how exactly did you...I mean..."

"Sperm donor," Brana said with a wry smile. "Before all this happened. We've been trying for a couple years now, but no luck, and after the world ended it sort of slipped my mind."

"Right." He shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight. "Well, I suppose I can keep this a secret, until…"

"Thank you." She reached out to squeeze his arm. "With any luck, it's nothing, but I just want to be sure, you know?"

"Right," he said again. "Well, we should probably head back to camp before Thorin sends out a search party."

"Let's get the boxes first."

"Oh, yeah." Shaking himself, Bilbo hurried back into the building to gather them up.

* * *

Bilbo tilted his head back and breathed in the clear mountain air. They were stopped outside a small town at the base of a valley, which was cradled to the north and south by lush green mountains.

Their journey west had taken them near the Misty Mountains, and he had been enchanted by their hulking shapes. This was the farthest east he'd ever been, and he couldn't deny the sense of adventure he'd felt seeing mountains for the first time.

Their luck with scavenging had gotten slightly better as they'd moved farther from the coast, though they still had to tighten their belts every few weeks. Bilbo had tried, discreetly as he could, to make sure Brana got a little extra food. She hadn't started showing yet, though he didn't really know when that was supposed to happen—nor had he had the chance to find a pregnancy test, so neither of them knew if they had a reason to worry at all.

The thought had continued to weigh on him, so when Thorin announced that he was going to look for supplies, Bilbo volunteered to go with him.

"Have you ever been in this area before?" he asked as they drove, smiling up at the massive shape of one of the mountains, the peak of which was just barely visible in the scope of the window.

"Once or twice," Thorin replied, terse as usual, though his tone betrayed no impatience.

"You know, I've stayed on this side of the Misty Mountains my whole life. I used to think about traveling, seeing the world, but I never made any real plans for it." He smiled wryly. "I never thought the opportunity would come after the world had ended."

Thorin glanced at him. "What did you do, before all this?"

"For a living? I was a librarian." He gave an almost defensive shrug. It wasn't exactly a thrilling job—not the sort of thing he brought up at parties. "I was also writing a book of my own, but I never ended up finishing it."

"Fíli was telling me something about a story of yours." He sounded as if he wanted to ask more, but didn't say anything else.

After a moment, Bilbo asked, "What did you do? Before?"

"I was in the military for a while. After that, I worked as an administrator at city hall."

"Oh." He raised his eyebrows at that. Military service certainly explained why Thorin was so… Well, it explained why he'd kept his cool after shooting a man in the head.

A soldier and a librarian. Bilbo smiled to himself. They certainly did make an odd couple. Not that they were an actual _couple_, but he didn't think he would have been friendly with someone like Thorin if fate hadn't thrown them together in the middle of an apocalypse.

He spotted a drug store coming up on their right, and pointed it out to Thorin. "Let's stop there, see what we can find."

Thorin glanced at him as he slowed the car and pulled into the parking lot. "Did Óin ask you for supplies?"

"Uh, no." He tried to keep his tone casual. "I just thought it wouldn't hurt to look around. Never know what kind of medicine we might need."

That seemed to be good enough for him. Thorin parked the car and they climbed out. As they walked into the store, Bilbo put a hand on the knife on his belt. The two of them had guns as well, but Thorin had told the group not to use them for killing walkers until they found some silencers—barring emergencies, of course.

Bilbo took the left side of the store while Thorin took the right, scanning the aisles as he went. The interior of the store was dim, and the light shining through the front door cast long shadows over the linoleum floor.

He turned the corner and tensed with a gasp as he came across a walker. It turned to him with a low growl, its movements still sluggish from sleep, or whatever walkers did when they stood still. Bilbo drew his knife and reached up, jabbing the blade into its eye. The walker fell before it could do anything, and he winced as it collided with a shelf, making a loud rattling noise.

Thorin appeared at the other end of the aisle, one hand on his gun, and his gaze dropped to the bleeding body on the floor.

"Sorry," Bilbo whispered.

They cleared the rest of the store without incident. Bilbo found a box of tissues to clean his knife, then began looking for the pregnancy section.

Most of the shelves were a mess, none of them more than a third full, and even then it was mostly empty boxes. The section for pregnancy and maternal health was in a disarray, scattered with all sorts of boxes and bottles.

Bilbo sent a nervous glance towards the back of the store. Thorin had gone to check the prescription medications, and hopefully he could wrap this up before he came back.

As quietly as he could, he began digging through the mess of vitamins, supplements, stretch mark cream, and even a couple boxes advertising a paternity test. He found a box that looked rather like a pregnancy test, but it was for something called a fertility monitor. That didn't sound right, so he put it back and kept looking.

Finally, he managed to find a box clearly labeled as a pregnancy test. The device on the package didn't look as much like a thermometer as he'd seen on television, but he wasn't about to get picky. He shoved it into his backpack and dug through the other boxes, wondering if there was anything else he could get Brana if she really was pregnant. Maybe some vitamins…?

"Find anything?"

Bilbo started at the sound of Thorin's voice, heart jumping to a gallop as he fumbled with the items in front of him. "U-Um, not much. I was just looking at…" He grabbed one at random and stood up.

Thorin looked down at the box in his hands, arms crossed. "Condoms." He looked back up at Bilbo, thoroughly unimpressed.

Heart sinking, he glanced down and saw that he was indeed holding a box of condoms. "Um…"

"It's none of my business." Thorin brushed past him and went to go check a different section of the store.

Bilbo could feel his face burning. At least he'd been able to keep Brana's secret, but now Thorin would think…

Well, he probably wouldn't think anything at all, since every time he seemed to give a damn about Bilbo he went right back to acting cold five minutes later.

With a huff, he made to tossed the box back on the shelf and went to see if there was anything _actually_ useful he could find.

* * *

The sky grew overcast as night began to fall, but everyone's mood considerably brightened when Óin procured a bottle of wine. He'd found it a while back, apparently, and had been saving it for when they were in a relatively safe place. Bifur brought out a bag of plastic party cups, and Óin carefully portioned out the wine for the fifteen adults—though Brana declined, saying she didn't feel like drinking, and was promptly put on watch.

Fíli and Kíli both complained about being left out at first, but were mollified when Bilbo passed them each a package of candy. At one point, Kíli did try to sneak a sip of Bifur's wine, only for the man to catch him and begin chasing him around camp.

Thorin's mood was slightly dampened, though. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened in the drug store earlier that day. Like he'd said, it was none of his business what Bilbo planned to do with a box of condoms, but it didn't keep him from wondering _who_ he was planning on using it with.

It wasn't as if he had any reason to be jealous, since he hadn't given Bilbo any indication of his interest whatsoever. He couldn't let himself be distracted, either—not with flesh-eating corpses about. They still hadn't found a safe place, and the days were getting cooler. The winters on the other side of the mountain were harsh, and they couldn't afford to be stuck out in the open when the season came.

So no, he couldn't let himself get preoccupied with things unnecessary to their survival. Even if his eyes kept wandering over to where Bilbo was sitting by the fire, laughing and gesturing animatedly as he told a story to Víli and Bofur. He watched as Bofur slung an arm around Bilbo's shoulders, and the plastic cup in his fist crumpled.

Glóin, who was sitting next to him, jumped at the noise. "The hell is up with you?"

He wasn't inclined to answer that, so Thorin grumbled an excuse and stood up. He made his way to the edge of their camp, slipping a half-full pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

It had been a long time since he'd been with anyone. Dís had married Víli while they were still in college, and he'd been happy enough to watch his nephews grow up, to spend time with the rest of his family. He'd never fallen in love or found someone to spend the rest of his life with, and the way things were going now, having a life at all wasn't exactly guaranteed.

Thorin sighed and fiddled with the cigarette pack in his hand, the paper smeared with red from the wine that had spilled onto his hand. Alcohol on a mostly empty stomach was making him sentimental.

"Need a light?"

He turned turned, masking his jolt of surprise under a cool stare, and found Bilbo standing there, offering up a lighter.

"I didn't know you smoked." He accepted it and lit the end of his cigarette.

"I don't, actually. I just found it a while back and thought it might be useful." He took the lighter back and slipped it into his pocket.

Thorin took a drag and wondered why Bilbo had come over at all. Compared to some of the others, who would listen to his stories with smiles and wide eyes, he was poor company.

"Well, I did try marijuana when I was in college." Bilbo grimaced. "It wasn't a good experience. My friend put on a horror movie, and I was scared out of my wits."

"What movie was it?"

"I don't remember. I think it had something to do with vampires."

A chuckle escaped him at that, and after a moment, Bilbo joined him.

"I wonder what the world would be like if it had been taken over by vampires instead of walkers."

"We'd be looking for garlic instead of bullets," Thorin said, and allowed himself a smile as Bilbo began to laugh.

The wine _was_ making him sentimental, but he didn't mind this. Whatever Bilbo decided to do with his affections elsewhere, he wouldn't mind being friends.

**I told myself I wasn't going to include any exact plot points from TWD, but I couldn't help pulling the condoms scene from 2x05. Unfortunately didn't have the same ending though.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Bilbo yawned again, blinking rapidly as he fought to keep the road in focus. The sun had set hours ago, turning the dark road into a blur of black shadows and hazy yellow headlights. They were driving on a narrow road on the side of the mountain, trying to find a sheltered place to stay, and so far they hadn't had any luck.

Dís reached over from the passenger seat and pinched him hard on the arm, making him yelp.

"What the hell was that for?" he asked, massaging the sore spot.

She regarded him with raised eyebrows. "You were falling asleep."

"Was not." But he sat up a little straighter in his seat. Dís was usually good-tempered and kind, but when she got tired or stressed, he could definitely see the relation between her and her brother.

"Wuh?" Bofur sat up from where he'd been dozing in the backseat. "We there yet?"

"Not quite," Bilbo said with a sigh, then realized Thorin's car had pulled a good distance ahead of them. He pressed down on the gas, then frowned as nothing happened. He glanced down at the gauge—he still had a quarter of a tank left. "Oh, shit."

"What is it?"

He jabbed at the pedal with his foot, but the car continued to slow down. Looking up, he realized Thorin's car was about to turn the corner and drive out of sight, and pressed down on the horn.

"What happened?" Dís leaned over to look at the dash.

"I don't know." Bilbo braked the car, thankful that at least that was still working. He sighed as Thorin's car turned around, its headlights flashing across the quiet valley. "I think my car just broke down."

Fifteen minutes later, the rest of the group had joined them on the side of the road, and Víli and Óin were leaning over the open hood of his car, tinkering with the engine.

Bilbo leaned against the metal barrier on the side of the road and crossed his arms. His car was fairly old, but he hadn't expected it to break down so suddenly.

Óin straightened and looked around at the group. "Well, at least it wasn't the RV."

"Can you fix it?" Bilbo took a step forward.

He shook his head. "Not without the proper tools."

"We'll still be able to squeeze everyone into the other vehicles," Brana said. "It'll be a tight fit, but…"

"Well, we should get moving soon." Nori looked up at the dark clouds obscuring the moon. "I don't like the thought of being stranded out here, especially at night."

"Hey," Fíli called, getting everyone's attention. He pointed down the hillside. "There's lights down there."

Everyone crowded over to where he was standing, and sure enough, a cluster of lights was visible through the trees, at the bottom of the valley.

"Holy shit," Bofur breathed.

Bilbo couldn't remember the last time he'd seen electric lights besides the battery-powered lanterns they carried around. It had been disturbing to see the lights go out at the start of the outbreak, and it was equally disconcerting to see them reappear. They looked alien now, like a cluster of stars that had fallen to the center of the valley.

"They probably have a generator powering the buildings down there," Bifur said.

"Well, maybe whoever is down there has the tools to fix Bilbo's car," Víli said.

Thorin shook his head. "We need to keep moving. Let's not take our chances with whoever is down there."

"Well, just because they're strangers doesn't mean they're automatically bad," Bilbo said. "When was the last time we ran into another group of survivors?"

He turned to him with a warning stare. "A few weeks ago, when they held us at gunpoint and almost strangled you to death."

Well. That was a good point.

"Let's move the supplies into my car and go." Thorin motioned for them to get to work, and Bilbo begrudgingly went to open his trunk.

Balin gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm as he passed. "Sorry, lad."

A few minutes later, he was sandwiched between Dís and Bofur in the back of Thorin's car, and he resisted the urge to look back as they left his car on the side of the road.

He thought back to his tomato plants, and wondered how much of himself he was losing by leaving these little pieces behind.

They drove for a little longer, taking a right when the road forked in two. Bilbo glanced at the sign as they passed, and was able to make out the words _Rivendell Research Facility_, with an arrow pointing to the left, towards the bottom of the valley.

"What do you suppose they're researching down there?" he asked, to which most of the car responded with sleepy grunts. He glanced backwards, the collection of lights still glittering in his mind's eye. "Must be important for them to be keeping the lights on."

"If it is, then we'd only be getting in their way," Thorin said, and that was the end of it.

Or, at least, it was until twenty minutes later.

Bilbo jerked out of his doze as the car pulled to a stop. He looked up to see the others in front of them had halted as well, and just beyond were the upturned roots of a fallen tree. He closed his eyes again, figuring the rest of the group could deal with it.

Through his hazy consciousness, he could hear the window roll down and Glóin say, "It's no use. We don't have the tools to cut it up, and there's no way we'd be able to go around."

Thorin cursed. "All right. Tell the others to turn around. We'll take the other road at that fork and see if we can find another way through."

"Got it."

They began moving again. Since Bilbo's map was not of a large area, they'd been flying blind for the past few weeks after moving out of its scope. It didn't seem likely that they'd be able to find another road through this particular valley, but there was only one way to find out.

How long it took to get to the bottom of the valley, he wasn't sure, but Bilbo drifted awake again as the car pulled to a stop. They'd reached a closed chain-link gate, decorated with a white metal sign that said, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

Thorin let out another string of curses that made Dís kick the back of his seat. "We're going to have to backtrack to that town from two days ago." He put the car into reverse.

"Wait a second," Bilbo said, straining his ears to catch the faint buzzing coming from the gate. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Bofur sat up and rolled down his window, making audible the grainy voice coming from somewhere on the gate.

"..._repeat, state your name and purpose."_

"What is this, Monty Python?" Bofur muttered. At Bilbo's insistent nudging, he stepped out of the car, so that he could climb out as well.

"Um, excuse me?" He stepped forward, searching the silvery surface of the gate. Eventually he spotted a small black speaker near one corner, along with another device that might have been a camera. He directed his words towards the box. "My name is Bilbo Baggins. I-I'm travelling with a group here, and we're trying to find a way through the valley."

Thorin had stepped out of the car as well, and spun him around with a firm grip on his arm. "What the hell are you doing?"

Bilbo met his stare. "Thorin, we are lost. We're running out of supplies, and my car just broke down. These people might be able to help us."

Before he could respond, the speaker sounded again, "_How many people are in your group?_" He couldn't tell if the voice was a man or woman's, but they sounded rather stern.

"Seventeen," he replied. "Including two children." _Possibly three_, he added silently.

"We could be walking right into a trap," Thorin said lowly. Bilbo tried to ignore how close he was standing.

"_We'll send someone to open the gate," _the speaker said, then crackled into silence.

"Look, I don't think—" Bilbo started, but Thorin had already stormed off towards the RV. "Thorin," he tried, but received no response.

He turned back to the gate, a mixture of guilt and defensiveness blooming in his gut. Perhaps he'd acted rashly. But the whole group was exhausted. A safe place was just what they needed, and if it was a research facility, they might be able to finally get some answers about the outbreak.

And he didn't want to live in a world where they weren't able to trust other people. Despite what had happened with the three men, he still wanted to believe that there were others out there that were good.

Bilbo looked back at their beaten convoy and frowned. They couldn't be the only ones left.

Despite their exhaustion, the group was on high alert by the time a small white car pulled up to the other side of the fence. They watched as as a man in a white lab coat that had clearly seen better days stepped out and walked over to the gate. He took a key from his pocket and undid the lock, then pulled open the gate and nodded for them to come through. He didn't seem excited or nervous or afraid, which struck Bilbo as a little strange. But he did have on a lab coat, which leant a bit of credibility to the fact that he was some sort of researcher and not whatever brand of psychopath Thorin expected to find beyond the fence.

They followed the white car through the fence and down a long, winding road. The land on either side was mostly fields, though Bilbo caught sight of a few small buildings scattered throughout.

Eventually they reached a parking lot in front of a modern-looking building. The lights were on in a couple of windows, but Bilbo couldn't see anything inside. The man stepped out of his car and stood with his hands behind his back, waiting for them to get out as well.

Thorin took the lead as they followed him across the parking lot and towards the front door. Bilbo tried not to gasp as the sliding glass doors opened automatically—after living so long without technology, even that simple feat seemed alien.

They walked through the doors and into a clean, open lobby. A woman was waiting by one of the other doorways next to a large plastic bin on wheels.

"We would ask that you remove all of your weapons and place them in the cart," the man said, surveying their group.

Bilbo glanced around, and for the first time realized just how dirty they all were, their skin smeared with mud and sweat and their hair tangled. With the way they were standing, a tight pack poised to attack from all angles with Fíli and Kíli in the center, they rather looked like wild animals.

"We'll keep our weapons, thanks." Thorin stood with a deceptively open posture, but his right hand was loose, only a moment away from snatching up the gun at his hip.

The man regarded him impassively. "We do not use weapons in the facility, and it is a matter of security that visitors do not either." When no one said anything, he added, "These are dangerous times. But if you are to trust that we will not harm you, then we must have the same faith in you."

Thorin stared at the man for a few long moments, then nodded to the rest of the group. They walked as a unit over to the plastic bin and took turns depositing their guns and knives inside. Nori was the last to be done after he'd pulled at least two dozen makeshift weapons from his pockets, shoes, sleeves, and even a small blade he'd hidden in his hair.

The man's eyebrows lifted a millimeter at the number of weapons, but the only thing he said was, "I'll take you to see our director, now."

They followed him down a long, white hallway. The lights here were dimmed—Bilbo supposed this was a way to save power. The whole place had a rather sanitized feel to it, only making it stranger.

"Is anyone else getting an asylum serial killer vibe, here?" Bofur whispered way too loudly. Óin shot him a look.

"What's asylum serial killer?" Kíli asked, not even bothering to lower his voice, and Fíli shushed him with a pat on the shoulder. If Lindir heard him, he didn't react.

Eventually they reached a door labeled _Dr. Elrond Peredhel_. The room behind it was neatly furnished, with a couple of packed bookshelves and a sturdy wooden desk. The stern-looking man sitting behind it stood as they entered.

"Ah, I didn't realize there would be so many." He straightened his own lab coat. "Lindir, if you could show them to the conference room—"

"No," Thorin said. "We can speak in here. The rest of our group will wait outside." He glanced behind him and nodded to Glóin, who positioned herself beside the door. Bilbo realized he probably didn't want any of them to be stuck in a room with only one exit without some sort of lookout or escape plan.

"Very well." Elrond sat down again. "Are any of your group infected?"

"No. We're only looking for a way through the valley. The road above is blocked by a fallen tree."

"I see." He regarded them with a strange neutrality. It was slightly off-putting, even if Bilbo didn't believe him to be dangerous. "When it's light out, we can send one of our vehicles to help remove it."

Thorin shifted his weight. It was clear he was anxious to be back on the road as soon as possible. Though now that Bilbo thought about it, they were currently in a relatively safe place, one where they could at least spend the night. He opened his mouth to say something, but Elrond beat him to it.

"Until then, you are welcome to stay in the facility. We have some guest rooms that would be able to accommodate you all."

"Why?" Thorin asked. "Why help us?"

Bilbo had to suppress a scoff. He could understand being cautious, but in their circumstances, he didn't see any point in looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Elrond didn't seem fazed at all by the question. "For the past few months we have used this facility to study the virus that caused the outbreak, so that we might help the remnants of humanity. We consider another part of that to be taking in any survivors that need shelter."

Bilbo glanced back at the rest of the group. They were wary but haggard, and undoubtedly in desperate need of a place to sleep in peace. Kíli was already dozing off, leaning against Víli's leg.

He turned back in time to see Thorin nod stiffly. Elrond looked neither pleased nor disappointed, and Lindir began edging his way towards the door, gesturing for them to follow him.

They walked back down the hallway, down a flight of stairs, and back outside. The facility, Bilbo realized, was a collection of multiple buildings. The grass in between the sidewalks connecting the buildings had grown long and unkempt. In the center was a fountain, which had long since dried up.

Eventually they reached a rectangular two-story building. Bilbo supposed since the facility was rather out of the way, the people who worked here or those that came from out of town would find it more convenient to stay on site.

"I'll turn on the power for this building in a moment," Lindir said, stopping by the door. "I only ask that you use it sparingly. That goes for the hot water, too."

Despite their exhaustion, an excited murmur went up from the group at the mention of hot water, and Bilbo could have sworn he saw a slight smile on Lindir's face as he walked away.

Chattering quietly, the group walked inside the building. Bilbo followed, eager to sleep on a real bed for once, but he was halted as Thorin grasped his upper arm.

He turned around as the rest of the group disappeared inside. Thorin frowned down at him, his voice little more than a growl. "Don't ever undermine me like that again. We got lucky this time, but your impulse decision could have gotten us all killed. You can't just step up and make choices for the whole group when it suits you."

And before Bilbo could respond, he walked inside.

Ears burning, he stood there for a long moment before following him in.

Just inside was a lounge area with a few couches, a kitchenette, and a set of stairs. To the right was a hallway leading to the bedrooms. He headed upstairs and took the first empty room he saw, too exhausted to do much more than slip off his shoes and collapse onto the bed.

As he drifted off, his mind wandered back to what Thorin had said to him. He saw now that it had been a risky move on his part to ask for help from a group of strangers. Thorin had been leading the group all this time, after all, and probably knew best how to keep them safe.

But it didn't sit well with him to be living in constant fear and paranoia. If he spent the rest of his life refusing to take chances, refusing to trust anyone, then what was the point of staying alive at all?

**I think I might have mentioned this in an earlier chapter, but please let me know how I'm doing handling such a big cast of characters. I keep worrying I'm going to forget someone, but obviously there's not enough time to pay attention to all of them.**

**So what do you guys think about what Bilbo did? Should he have taken that chance, or just listened to Thorin?**


	11. Chapter 11

**I hope everyone is at least somewhat familiar with Life, since I'm not sure how popular it is. Just for clarification purposes, you put little plastic figurines in your plastic car to represent your "family," with blue figurines for guys and pink figurines for girls. How is this relevant to the chapter? Read and find out ;)** **Chapter 11**

Bilbo was startled awake as something hit the side of his face. He blinked, breathing in the smell of blueberries and brown sugar. "What the hell?" he mumbled.

"They're giving us food," Víli's voice came from the door. "Are you planning on waking up?"

He propped himself up on one elbow, finally managing to keep his eyes open, and realized it was a muffin that had been launched at his face. "What is...What?"

"We're in the creepy research facility, remember?" Víli said, smiling as Bilbo sat up and rubbed at his face. "We decided to let you sleep in, but most of the others are in the cafeteria right now."

He looked around at the plainly furnished room, memories of the previous night rushing back. "How long was I asleep?"

"Not sure." Víli glanced at the window, where gray, cloudy sunlight glowed. "But we saved some food for you."

"I noticed." Bilbo picked up the muffin and put it on the tiny bedside table, so it would stop shedding crumbs all over the sheets. "I'm going to take a shower. I'll meet you there."

"Roger that."

Once Víli had left and closed the door behind him, Bilbo stood up and crossed the room to the bathroom door. It was a small space, with only a shower, sink, and a toilet. The hot water was lovely, enough that he didn't mind too much having to put on his dirty clothes afterwards. Few of them had any real changes of clothing, since there wasn't exactly a variety of choices in post-apocalyptic stores.

The day was cool and cloudy as he stepped outside, finishing the muffin and wiping crumbs from his mouth. Low-hanging clouds obscured the peaks of the mountains on either side. Now that it was daytime, he could see the facility better. Despite its rundown appearance, it looked much cleaner and more intact than a lot of the buildings they'd passed. It looked...livable.

He spotted Thorin standing outside one of the larger buildings, and assumed this was where everyone else was. He seemed to just be smoking (apparently he'd asked someone else for a lighter this time, Bilbo thought with a slight frown), though one hand hovered near his gun as he scanned the area. Bilbo passed him in silence, figuring he was still pissed about last night.

The cafeteria wasn't hard to find once he was inside, what with the energetic chatter echoing down the hall. The majority of the group was seated around two round tables, passing around plates of bagels and hot potatoes and eggs. The smell hit his nose, and Bilbo felt his stomach give a loud, angry growl.

Bombur pulled out a chair for him, and Bofur spooned an ungodly amount of scrambled eggs onto his plate. Bilbo snatched up a fork and shoved the first bite into his mouth savoring the taste of fresh, hot food for the first time in weeks.

"Lindir said this was mostly frozen or premade stuff, but it's not bad, eh?" Bofur said.

Bilbo swallowed and looked around. "Is he here?"

"Nah. He and a few others brought out the food, but they left after."

There was no one else in the large room except for them, so Bilbo turned back to his meal. "I still wonder what they're researching here."

"They've got to be using human test subjects for something," Nori said from across the table. "They'll probably all lock us in a basement before we can leave so they can have a fresh supply of lab rats."

Dori pinched his brow. "I seriously don't know where you get these ideas."

Bilbo pulled a face, hoping Nori was joking. "That, or they're genuinely nice people who want to help us."

"There's no _nice_ in this world. You think they'd give us all this food for free just to send us on our way? They're buttering us up." As if to punctuate his point, Nori spread a thick layer of butter onto his bagel.

A tense silence fell across the table. Nori bringing up his slightly paranoid theories was nothing new, but they'd all grown a little more wary over the past few months.

Bilbo looked up in time to see Brana walk into the cafeteria. She made it halfway across the room before she froze, put a hand over her mouth, and hurried back towards the door. Glóin pushed back her chair and went after her.

_Oh, no_. He pushed the remainder of his eggs around his plate, worry boiling through his gut, then stood up and muttered an excuse to Bofur. Once he'd left the room, it took him only a few minutes to find the women's bathroom. Low voices were coming from behind it, but he debated for a long moment before knocking.

Glóin opened it only wide enough for her to lean through and glare at him. "The men's room is the next one over."

"I-I know, I was just coming to see—"

"It's okay," Brana's voice sounded from inside. "He can come in."

She regarded him for another moment, then stepped back to let him pass. Bilbo hesitated for a moment, feeling as though he was about to breach some unspoken rule, then decided it was the end of the world and that he could forgive himself for this one.

Brana was leaning against the counter where the sinks were, arms crossed over her stomach. She nodded to him with a slight grimace as he walked inside.

"He was the one who got me the test," she said to Glóin.

"And…?" Bilbo asked, though he was afraid he already knew the answer.

"It's positive."

"Oh." He leaned against the stall, feeling a bit lightheaded. "You're sure?"

She gave a small shrug. "It's getting pretty obvious at this point, anyway." Glóin walked over and put an arm around her shoulders.

"What are you going to do?"

"We haven't decided yet." Brana leaned against her wife, and Bilbo noticed for the first time the dark circles under her eyes. "Maybe things would be easier if we had a safe place to stay, but if we're still on the road in six, seven months…"

"We're not telling anyone yet, either," Glóin said with a warning glance in his direction.

"When would you start, um…" Bilbo made a rounded gesture over his stomach.

"In the next month or so. I just need some time to figure out what I'm going to do."

"Well, my lips are sealed," Bilbo said. "I wish there was more I could do."

"You've already been so helpful," Brana said with a smile. "But we'll let you know."

Glóin gave him a nod that was somehow both grateful and dismissive at the same time, and Bilbo knew the conversation was over. He showed himself out of the bathroom, but instead of heading back to the cafeteria, he began walking in the other direction. He needed to be alone, clear his head for a while.

The dimly-lit halls were white, unadorned, and only provided a contrast for the thoughts buzzing in his mind. It was possible they would have a _baby_ on the way. And that was assuming nothing went wrong with the pregnancy—if Brana chose to go through with it at all.

He passed a set of floor-to-ceiling windows and realized it was pouring outside. The rain created a flashing gray haze, making everything in the distance practically invisible. But part of the chaos was calming, with a layer of glass between him and the rest of the world.

"Not with the rest of your group?"

Bilbo started and turned to see Elrond walking towards him from the end of the hallway. He still walked with a straight posture and steady movements, but in the light of day there was a friendly slant to his expression.

"Oh, I just needed a moment alone." He gave him a slight, inviting nod.

"Your group has been more...defensive than I expected." Elrond joined him at the window. "Not that we really knew what to expect. None of us have been outside the facility in months."

"I-If you don't mind me asking, what is it that you research here?"

He glanced at him, one brow arching. "I'll show you." He began walking down the hallway and gestured for Bilbo to follow.

He fell into step slightly behind him, feeling a prickle of foreboding beneath his skin. There was no evidence that Elrond had any sinister intentions, but Nori's words had stuck with him. He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping the doctor didn't have any sedative-filled syringes hidden in his white coat.

Elrond stepped into a well-lit lab room, complete with various centrifuges and microscopes and other tools Bilbo didn't recognize on sanitized counters. The whiteboard on the back of the room displayed a projection of the human brain. The shelves were crowded with various labeled containers and papers.

"This was originally a facility meant for studying plant life in the valley," Elrond said, stopping next to one of the microscopes. "When the outbreak happened, a few biomedical engineers and other doctors were shipped down here. This facility has a wide range of equipment and is far from any urban centers—it was a safeguard in case the cities were overrun."

And they had been indeed. Bilbo scratched at his forearm. It made sense now why the facility had been self-sustaining for so long, if the government had equipped it with rations and a generator in case things went south.

"We've made some headway, learning how the virus works, but we have yet to find a cure."

"How did you…" Bilbo paused, unsure how to phrase his question without sounding overly suspicious. "Where did you get the, um…"

"You're asking where we obtained our test subjects," Elrond said, one brow quirking upward. But in the next moment, a shadow fell across his expression. "One of the last doctors to arrive was infected. Whether she was unaware or simply hiding it, we never found out. But we were unprepared, and she turned and killed several others in the middle of the night."

"Oh my god." Bilbo's mouth fell open. "That's horrible."

"Those that survived but were bitten gave permission for their bodies to be studied. We…" His mouth fell into a flat line. "We gained valuable information from the three that we examined."

Bilbo finally realized the expression on his face was one of grief. "That...That must have been very difficult."

Elrond nodded stiffly. "We can only hope that their untimely deaths will save other lives in the future."

He realized that the doctor probably didn't want to have an emotional heart-to-heart with someone he barely knew, and decided to change the subject. "So do you think a vaccine might be possible?"

"A vaccine?"

"I mean, so that a person might get bit but not turn into a, um, walker."

Elrond searched his face for a moment. "Ah," he said finally. "So you don't know."

A chill raced down his spine. "Know what?"

"The infection from the bite only causes a deadly fever." He tapped the microscope with one long finger. "The virus, the one that resurrects the dead, is present in every living person."

"What?" He took a step back, his pulse thundering in his ears. "What do you mean?"

"Death itself is the cause of resurrection," Elrond explained calmly. "If one were to die from blood loss or pneumonia, for instance, without having been bitten, they would still come back as a walker, as you call them."

"Oh." His head spun with the implications of that statement. As if the world wasn't already screwed up enough, now any one of them had the potential to turn into a walking, soulless corpse. Another, awful thought entered his mind, and he began speaking before he knew what he was doing. "If...I-If, let's say, a fetus were to die inside the mother, would it…?"

"That, I do not know. We have not had the chance to study something like that." Elrond searched his face. "Is one of your group pregnant?"

Bilbo cleared his throat. He really shouldn't have said anything. But now that he thought about it, he sensed an opportunity, one that could potentially benefit the whole group. "If that were the case, _hypothetically_…you would have doctors here, right? Ones that would be able to help her?"

His lips pursed a fraction. "We would not be able to let everyone stay. It would put too great a strain on our resources."

He nodded. Seventeen people was a lot to take on. "If I could convince two of them to stay…?"

"I would certainly consider it."

"Thank you." He huffed out a relieved sigh. Despite his earlier suspicion, it seemed to him now that Elrond had a good heart, despite his slightly strange mannerisms. "I, um, I'd better get going. I don't want to take up too much of your time."

Elrond nodded as Bilbo turned to leave. "Tell your group they are welcome to stay another night. With this rain, I doubt we'll be able to help you get through the valley."

"I will. Thank you." He left the room, grateful that they had more time to stay, though his brow furrowed at the terrible fact that Elrond had shared with him.

* * *

"No." Brana shook her head and leaned against the wall. "I'm not staying here."

"You wouldn't have to worry." Bilbo spread his hands. "About any of the health aspects, or about raising your child in a safe place." He looked to Glóin, who was seated on the bed in their shared room, but she only glanced at her wife.

"Look, I understand your concern. Practically, it makes sense. But I wouldn't be able to live with myself letting you guys continue on, not knowing what was happening to you while I was safe."

Glóin gave a short nod. "Family first."

"But what about when you tell the others? They would want you to stay behind."

Brana crossed her arms. "It doesn't matter what they'd want. It's my decision."

"Well, of course. I only meant…"

"I know you're just trying to look out for me, Bilbo." She gave him a slight smile. "Just trust that I know what I'm doing. I've been thinking about this nonstop."

Bilbo nodded. "Like I said before, if you—"

They all froze at a knock on the door. Glóin stood and opened it, revealing Dís on the other side.

"Is Bilbo here?" She peered inside and found him. "Ah. Can I borrow you for a second?"

"Uh, sure." He glanced at Brana and Glóin and stepped outside. "What is it?"

"I'm hiring you as a babysitter." She clapped him on the shoulder as they began walking down the hallway. "Do you think you could watch Fíli and Kíli tonight? Víli and I wanted some…time by ourselves, and I just wanted to make sure the boys have someone to go to if they need anything."

"I'd be happy to." He smiled. "Where are they now?"

"I think their room is on the first floor, one of the doors on the right." She stopped at the stairs before they could head down. "What were you talking to Glóin and Brana about?"

"Um." His cheeks heated. He hadn't thought to come up with some sort of excuse before heading into their room. "We were just chatting. You know."

Dís nodded slowly, and he inwardly cursed. "Well, if you ever need any relationship advice, you can always ask me. I might be in a straight relationship, but that doesn't mean I don't have things to share."

His mental panic screeched to a halt. "Wait, what?"

She gave him a knowing smirk. "I know Thorin better than anyone here. So if you need any advice…"

"That's—That's not—no." Bilbo shook his head, his face burning. "I-I wasn't asking for—"

Dís only chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "I hear you." She started off towards her room. "Loud and clear."

He could still feel his heart thumping as he made his way down to Fíli and Kíli's room. But before he could begin to ponder who exactly knew about his feelings for Thorin, his attention was drawn to the angry voices on the other side of the door.

"Why don't you listen to me?" Fíli was shouting when he walked in. Kíli was seated on his bed, facing the wall with his hands clapped over his ears and shouting gibberish.

"What's going on here?" Bilbo asked, causing Fíli to turn to him. Kíli continued to yell, but he elected to ignore that for the moment.

"Kíli's being mean," Fíli said, his face screwed up in anger. He made to stalk past him, but Bilbo blocked his path.

"Now, hang on a second. Just tell me what—_Kíli_, could you please…" He waited until the younger boy had quieted, then continued. "What's the problem, then? Storming off isn't going to help anything."

"I was telling Kíli to pack his bag since we're leaving tomorrow." Fíli crossed his arms and scowled down at the mess of clothes and other supplies on the floor. Bilbo hadn't thought anything of it at first, since they'd both been rather messy when living in his apartment. "But he just made a mess. He won't listen to me."

Bilbo glanced back at Kíli, who had flopped down onto his side and was still facing the wall. It wasn't like him, hyperactive as he sometimes was, to be so belligerent.

"I'm telling mom." Fíli tried to push past him again, but Bilbo put a hand on his shoulder.

"Your mom is, um…" He scrunched his mouth to the side, trying to choose his words carefully. "She's a bit busy right now. She asked me to watch you." He ushered Fíli back into the room and closed the door. "So let's figure out what the problem is. Kíli, why don't you want to pack up your things?"

All he received was an exaggerated shrug.

"See?" Fíli jabbed a finger at his brother. "I asked him that too, and he wouldn't answer me. 'Cause he doesn't want to—"

This set Kíli off again, and Bilbo pinched his nose as Fíli tried to shout over him. "Alright! Alright, that's enough!" When they still didn't quiet down, he reached over and flipped the light switch, which was enough to shock them into silence. He turned it back on and said, "Since the both of you can't talk this out without getting angry, we're going to try something else. On your feet, Kíli."

After a moment, he rolled out of bed, not meeting their eyes.

"Come on, then." Bilbo patted Fíli's shoulder and led them both out of the bedroom and down the hall.

Ori looked up from his paperback as they passed by the lounge area. "Everything all right?"

"I think I have it under control," Bilbo said with a slight grimace, and led them outside.

The grass was still damp from the day's rain, and the rising moon cast a silvery sheen over the lawn as they walked. Both brothers made a point of walking on either side of him, but he was willing to let it slide. Whenever he was feeling frustrated or restless, taking a walk usually did him some good, and he hoped it would help the boys as well.

After a lap around the facility, both of them were still in a sullen silence, so Bilbo took them inside the main building. It was eerily silent, but a few of the labs still had their lights on. A dark-haired woman passed them in the hallway, and before he could even ask, she pointed back the way she'd come and said, "The rec room's that way."

"Thanks." Bilbo nodded to her and led the boys in that direction.

Clearly most of the facility's budget had gone towards equipment and the like, since the room was rather plainly furnished. There was an air hockey table against one wall next to a couch. On the opposite side was a TV and a bookshelf. Fíli and Kíli made a beeline for the former, while Bilbo went to check the latter. There were a few board games stacked near the bottom, along with some well-worn paperbacks. Bilbo selected one at random, which featured a pretty woman wearing a lab coat and not much else, titled _The Test Subject_. He decided to give that a pass and put it back in his place.

Fíli had pried open the cabinet beside the TV and pulled out one of the titles within. "Crash Bandicoot? I love this game!"

Kíli was repeatedly pressing the power button on the TV, but the screen remained dark. Bilbo walked over and looked behind. The plug had been pulled out of the outlet, which was covered with black tape.

"Ah." He gestured for Kíli to stop. "They must have unplugged it to save power." He shot the boys a sympathetic grimace. "I'm afraid we're going to have to find something else to do."

Fíli put the game back with a sigh and trudged over to the bookshelf. Bilbo made to follow him, both to help him pick out a board game and make sure he didn't pick up the wrong book, but stopped as a loud sniffle came from Kíli.

He was standing in front of the TV, shoulders sagging as tears streamed down his face. Bilbo's heart broke at his forlorn expression, and he rushed over and put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's all right. I'm sure we'll find something fun to do." He frowned. Kíli was usually in a good enough mood to take his disappointments in stride. He looked over at Fíli for support, but he was staring stonily at the board game boxes as though they held the very secrets to the universe. He turned back to Kíli and knelt down. "What's the matter, then?"

"I don't wanna leave." Kíli sniffled again and wiped his face, smearing snot all over his sleeve. "I don't wanna sleep in the car again."

"Oh." Bilbo sat back on his heels. It was certainly something he should have considered before, that after all the strain and danger the apocalypse had put on such a young boy, he'd want to cling to the first safe place they stayed at.

"Why can't we just stay here?" Kíli asked, his little chest trembling with sobs.

"I know." He pulled him into a hug, silently winced at the growing wet patch on his shoulder as Kíli continued crying. "I wish we could stay, too. And it certainly isn't fair. But you must remember," he pulled back to look him in the eye, "even if we are back on the road and sleeping in our cars, you will still be surrounded by people who love you and want to protect you."

Kíli's lip trembled, and he still looked rather unconvinced.

"Look, Elrond wouldn't let all of us stay behind. There are too many of us, and if you did want to stay, that would mean the rest of us leaving you behind." Kíli looked rather stricken at this, and Bilbo quickly added, "Not—Not that any of us would ever do that." He bit his tongue. He shouldn't have said that, especially after what had happened at the motel. "Tomorrow, we're all going to leave this place together, and everything will be fine."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're uncle is a good man," Bilbo said, surprising himself. He didn't know where that particular thought had come from, but he knew it was true. "And he knows how to keep all of us safe. There is nothing I or any of the others wouldn't do for you. And one day, we'll find a place where we can all live together and you'll be able to sleep in your own bed and play as many video games as you want. Does that sound good?"

Kíli nodded and sniffled again. Bilbo pulled him close again and held him until his sobs subsided.

"Hey." Fíli rattled the board game box in his hand. "Can we play this?"

Bilbo let go and turned to see which game he was talking about. He nearly jumped as he realized Thorin was standing in the doorway. His cheeks heated as he wondered how long he'd been standing there.

"I'll help you set it up." Kíli wiped his face and made his way towards his brother.

Fíli evidently considered this enough of an apology for his earlier behavior and smiled. He turned to Thorin as his brother opened the box. "Do you want to play with us, Uncle Thorin?"

"Sure." He nodded and walked into the room, and Bilbo had to remind himself to stop staring at the length of his body.

He said very little as they sat on the floor in front of the TV, letting the brothers chatter away as they tried to decipher the directions for the game. Apparently they were playing the Game of Life, which seemed grotesquely ironic given their situation, but the boys seemed cheerful enough.

He still felt awkward around Thorin after their confrontation the previous day. On his part, Thorin was also rather quiet, though his gaze was filled with quiet affection as he watched his nephews set up the board.

The boys were more than happy to fill up the silence as they played. Kíli made a face as he picked his career card. "What's an accountant?"

"Well—" Bilbo and Thorin both said at the same time, and Thorin gave a short nod, deferring to him. He cleared his throat and said, "An accountant is someone who helps a person or a business decide how to spend their money."

"That sounds boring."

"That's just 'cause you're bad at math," Fíli said, flicking his stack of paper money. "When I grow up, I wanna be a soldier like Uncle Thorin."

"No, you don't," Thorin said lowly.

"But then I could keep everyone safe."

Bilbo glanced at the line of tension growing on Thorin's brow and said, "What about being a librarian, like me? You could read all the books you want."

"I already know how to be a librarian," Kíli said, then turned to his brother and shushed him loudly. Fíli burst into laughter, and even Thorin cracked a smile.

"Oh, very funny." Bilbo rolled his eyes, trying not to let his lips twitch. "I think it's my turn, yes?"

Thorin was the first to get married, and Bilbo didn't pay much attention until he realized he'd placed a little blue figurine next to his own in the plastic car. His pulse picked up, and he quickly set about organizing the little stack of cards in front of him. Certainly it didn't mean anything. This was just a game, after all. Perhaps blue was just his favorite color.

All the same, Bilbo placed a blue figurine in his own car when he landed on the marriage spot, and Fíli and Kíli did the same, though whether it was of their own preference or they were just copying them, he wasn't sure.

The rest of the game went mostly uneventfully, with Fíli surprisingly taking the lead income-wise, while Kíli did rather poorly due to some unwise purchases and Thorin occasionally grumbled about the inaccurate costs of different products and services.

"Don't worry," Fíli said as he smugly paid for the mansion card. "I'll let you guys come visit my giant house."

Kíli, who was still stuck with the cheap trailer home, picked up his plastic car. "I can just put my house inside your house." He rammed the car into one of the plastic houses on the board.

"Then I'm gonna park my car inside _your_ house." Fíli took his vehicle and smashed it into Kíli's. The small figurines went flying.

Soon, they were involved in an all-out battle that sent most of the pieces skittering from the board. Bilbo extracted his family of four before it could become a casualty.

"Seems the apocalypse came early," Thorin said, putting his own family out of the danger zone.

Bilbo hummed in agreement and placed his own car next to Thorin's. "Looks like we're back on the road."

Thorin smiled at him, blue eyes bright, and Bilbo felt his heart skip a beat. He looked down at their cars, parked next to each other on the linoleum floor, and couldn't help the answering grin that spread across his face.

**I hope that scene in the lab didn't make it too obvious that I'm a liberal arts major... I'm not sure if the "we're all infected" thing was a twist for anyone, since that's established pretty early on in the show. Kind of sucks already that there's zombies at all, but it's useful to know!**

**Speaking of sciencey things, The Test Subject is a real book...I do not have the rights to that book, nor have I ever read it, I just wanted a title and to spend the least amount of time looking at mad scientist erotica (which is a thing apparently...)**

**Two important things:**

**Earlier I was stressing about keeping all the plot points/continuity in order (like sometimes I forget that there's supposed to be walkers around...lmao), so if you guys see anything missing or feel like I should be giving more attention to something, please let me know!**

**Also, I bumped the rating up to M because of something that happens in Chapter 13. No spoilers, but it is violence-related, not sexual (sorry).**


	12. Chapter 12

**Warning for a mention and description of a dead infant in this chapter.** **Chapter 12**

From his position on the mountainside, Thorin could see for miles.

Just below were the lower foothills of the Misty Mountains. It had taken them another day to reach the other side, thanks to Elrond's help with clearing the road. They'd left on relatively good terms and with some extra rations, though Nori still muttered occasionally that they'd been microchipped in their sleep.

Further out, he could see the rich forestland of the east, interrupted by a few towns here and there. The skyline of Dale was visible closer to the horizon, and just beyond that, the Lonely Mountain. He stared at the tiny silhouette for a long moment, lost in memory.

"Enjoying the view?"

Thorin glanced behind him as Bilbo walked up the path, hands tucked into his pockets. He looked relaxed in the morning light, his hair slightly mussed from sleep. He ignored the sudden, pleasant twinge in his chest and nodded.

"Um, the others are ready to leave when you are." Bilbo came to a stop next to him but stood stiffly, as if he was unsure if he was welcome or not.

"I'll be down soon." He turned back to the landscape below and leaned his hands on the wood railing. They'd spent the night in an abandoned hunting lodge, and he'd gone up a hiking trail early the next morning to see if he could get a better view of what lay ahead. "How did you know where to find me?"

Bilbo shrugged. "Instincts, I guess."

A few seconds of awkward silence ticked by. Thorin wasn't sure where it was coming from, or how they could go from joking together to this in a matter of days, but one of them would have to speak.

He cleared his throat. "Do you know—"

"I wanted to—" Bilbo started at the same time, then coughed out a laugh. "Sorry."

Thorin nodded to him. "Go ahead."

"Well." He shifted his weight, fingers tapping on the wood of the railing. "I wanted to apologize. For what happened at Rivendell. I mean, asking to come in without consulting the rest of you."

Right. He had confronted Bilbo about it that night, and they hadn't talked about it since. "I know you meant well. But we can't afford to take risks like that. Not the way things are now."

"I know. I made a stupid mistake." He leaned his hip against the railing. "But you don't have to feel like you're doing this by yourself. We're all trying to survive together. Not everything has to be on you."

Thorin wasn't sure if he fully agreed with that, but he didn't feel like arguing with Bilbo at the moment. "Alright, then. Help me with something." He jerked his chin at the landscape below. "I'm up here trying to figure out where we should go next. You have any ideas?" When Bilbo raised his eyebrows slightly, he added, "Since you...like maps."

He resisted the urge to cringe at the awkward response, but Bilbo didn't seem to think anything of it. He leaned against the railing next to him and looked out over the greenery below.

After a few minutes' consideration, he said, "Well, I don't think we should focus so much on the destination as the journey." When Thorin shot him a look, he added, "I'm serious. If we're in a hurry to rush off somewhere, we might miss something important. It's not as if we have any deadlines, right?" Even as he said it, a shadow of doubt passed over his face.

Thorin hummed in consideration. "I'd rather not be on the move when winter comes." Already, some of the trees were tinged with orange and yellow.

"I'm sure we'll find someplace. We are in good hands, after all," Bilbo said with a slight smile.

Thorin's face warmed at that. He'd caught the tail end of Bilbo's conversation with Kíli, when Bilbo had called him a good man. He knew his family respected him, trusted him, but it was comforting to know Bilbo felt the same.

He spared one last glance at the mountain in the distance, and he and Bilbo walked back to camp together.

* * *

"Alright, go."

"Keep your eye on the queen." Nori threw three cards down on the table and began shuffling them around. "Still following it?"

Bilbo leaned forward, eyes fixed on the designated card. "Of course I am."

After another minute of shuffling, he lifted his hands, and Bilbo pointed at the one on the right. With a smirk, Nori flipped it over, revealing a six of hearts.

"How?" Bilbo threw up his hands and sat back. "I was watching it the whole time!"

"Gotta be faster." Nori flipped the middle card, revealing the queen. "I once got into a knife fight over this game. I still have the scar."

"Really?" Bilbo suppressed a disbelieving smile. This wasn't the first crazy story Nori had told him, but given his assortment of weird skills and how weirdly specific some of his stories were, he couldn't help but think at least some of them were true.

He stretched and looked out the window of the RV. "So, what did you do before...all this?"

"I worked in sales at a pet store."

"Oh." Bilbo blinked, trying to imagine him in a blue polo shirt with a cartoon cat embroidered on it. "I was expecting something more…"

"Well, when I was in prison, I had this sort of wood-carving business going on. It was pretty underground, but still popular."

"Ah. There we go." He frowned for a moment. "How did you end up in prison?"

"Forging Pokémon cards."

"What?" He shot an incredulous glance at Bifur, who was sitting on the sofa cleaning his gun. Bifur shrugged, and he turned back to Nori. "I don't even know what—never mind. I think if I keep asking questions, I'll only get more confused."

The RV slowed, and he looked out the window again. All he could see was trees, which probably meant they hadn't stopped to rest or look for supplies.

When he climbed out, he realized what the problem was. They'd reached a tall, two-lane bridge that was completely crowded with abandoned cars. Bilbo sighed and looked around at their group of vehicles. In such a narrow space, it would take a while to get everyone turned around.

"We'll have to head back to that intersection a few miles back," Thorin said, halfway out of his car. "Dwalin, get your truck turned around. Then we'll see what we can do about the RV."

"Why don't we check these cars while we're at it?" Dori said. "The RV is running low on gas, anyway."

Thorin frowned at the bridge for a long moment. "Fine. Stay alert, and go in pairs."

Bofur appeared at his side and linked arms with Bilbo. "What do you say? Wanna go siphon some gas?"

Bilbo smiled. "Sounds like fun." He thought he saw Thorin scowling at them as they passed, but decided he had absolutely no patience to decipher what mood he was in today and continued on without a backwards glance.

They picked a red SUV a little ways down the bridge, and Bofur checked the gas tank while Bilbo searched the interior of the car. In the trunk, he found a paper bag full of Christmas ornaments, of all things. He held one up. "Feel like decorating your hat?"

"Wrong season for it," Bofur said. "And I'm Jewish."

"Oh, right." Bilbo put the ornament back and closed the trunk after finding nothing of value.

"This car's empty." He picked up the gas can. "I'm gonna check the next one over."

"Don't go too far." Bilbo went to check the front of the car. In the glovebox he found an mp3 player which, miraculously, still had a bit of battery left in it, and pocketed it for future perusal.

They had more luck with the next car, both with a bit of gas and a few packets of food half-hidden under the seats.

"Hey," Bofur said to Brana, who was searching with Bombur. "You check that truck yet?"

"No," she said. "But let me know if you find some toothpaste, or mints, or something. I'm almost out, and I don't—" She let out a small scream.

Bilbo jumped at the sound, and he and Bofur rushed over to where she was standing, staring into one of the car windows with a stricken expression. He looked inside, and felt the air leave his lungs in a dizzying rush.

It was rotted by now, after however many months it had been in there, but the shape strapped into the carseat was unmistakable. It couldn't have been more than a year old.

He let out a shaky breath. He didn't know what to say—there was nothing he _could_ say.

"Alright, we don't need to be looking at that." Bombur took Brana, who looked rather faint, by the arm and started leading her away from the car.

Bofur took Bilbo's shoulder and squeezed it, and this was enough to break him out of his shock. He turned to Brana as the four of them walked away. "Are you okay?"

"I think so." She nodded, lips pressed tightly together. "Might be sick."

"Let's get you back to the cars." Bombur began walking her to the end of the bridge.

"Well," Bofur said, forced cheer in his voice. "You still up for looking around?"

Bilbo swallowed hard. "Might as well."

They continued on, finding a few more provisions to put in their packs. Bilbo found a couple of toy cars that Kíli would like and stowed them away.

About halfway down the bridge, Bilbo paused as a strange grating noise reached his ears. He paused and focused his hearing with a frown. The noise tugged at something in his memory, but he couldn't identify it right away.

He turned to Bofur. "Do you hear that?"

Low, quick footsteps made them both turn. Dwalin was sprinting towards them, weaving between the cars.

"Down!" he hissed, motioning with one hand. "Get out of sight!"

"Wha—" Bilbo began, but Bofur was already tugging him towards a nearby pickup truck. They clambered into the back, and as Bilbo lifted himself up, he realized with horror that a herd of about fifty walkers was crossing the bridge. They must have snuck up on them while they were turning the cars around. He couldn't see any of the others, and hoped that meant they'd been able to hide as well.

He and Bofur lay flat in the bed of the truck, trying not to breathe too hard as the shuffling and growls of the walkers came closer. The noise finally struck a chord in his memory—it was the same as the time a herd had passed by the motel. He suppressed a shudder and prayed that they'd be able to make it through this one together and alive.

The day was rather hot, and Bilbo could already feel sweat pooling against his back and under his arms as they lay silently. The black material of the truck bed certainly wasn't helping.

The heat only made the stench of the walkers more pronounced as they drew closer, and Bilbo muffled his noise of disgust as a wave of it passed over the truck. It was an incentive not to breathe too much, at least.

It seemed that an eternity had passed by the time their growls and footsteps began to fade. Slowly, Bilbo sat up, wincing at the sensation of his sweaty shirt sticking to his back. The majority of the herd had reached the other half of the bridge at this point.

"Come on," Bofur whispered, motioning for him to hop down from the truck. They made their way towards the RV together, still keeping an eye out for any stragglers.

A motion at their feet nearly had him crying out, but it was only Dwalin, dragging himself out from his hiding place underneath a blue car. He nodded to them, and they continued towards the RV.

Now that his heart had lessened its pounding somewhat, he could hear the low growls of a few walkers interspersed throughout the bridge. Where they were exactly, he wasn't sure, but he copied the others and walked in a crouch to stay out of sight.

Dwalin had taken the lead, with Bofur right behind him and Bilbo in the rear. He muffled a gasp as a walker stepped out from between two cars, cutting him off from the other two. Nearly tripping over his feet, he darted behind a minivan and stayed low, praying the walker wouldn't come his way.

Its shadow swayed across the dark pavement as it moved. The ratty edge of its sneakers appeared next to the car, and Bilbo crept around the corner as quietly as he could. Each panicked breath strained against his chest, only adding to his trembling.

A low, hollow _bang_, like something knocking against a car door, sounded from across the bridge. The noise was enough to distract the walker, and it turned around with a low growl. Bilbo risked standing up, both to give a break for his aching legs and see what had caused the noise.

Thorin was standing on the other side of the bridge, pinned against the side of a car as he wrestled with a particularly large walker. He needed both hands to keep it away, and wasn't able to reach for any of the weapons on his belt. With the other making its way towards him, he wouldn't stand a chance.

Bilbo fumbled for the knife in his pocket. It was a pocket knife, the blade barely longer than his middle finger, but it would have to do. He unfolded the blade and gripped the handle, which was already slick with sweat, then lunged at the walker in front of him.

His first strike entered its neck, enough to make it stagger but not to kill it. The walker growled and began to turn around. Bilbo yanked the blade out, sending a stream of dark blood to the ground, and stabbed it higher, right into the brain. Before the walker had even fallen, he was already stumbling forward, anxious to see if Thorin was all right.

He was still against the car, arms straining against the walker's weight. At six feet tall, it was much too big for someone Bilbo's size to have any hope of killing it. He sent a desperate glance around, but it seemed Dwalin and Bofur had already gone ahead, or were perhaps dealing with their own walkers.

Thorin finally sent one hand fumbling for the gun at his hip, and narrowly managed to dodge as the walker tried to sink its teeth into his neck. One arm went up, probably meant to jam underneath its jaw, but it changed its angle and clamped its teeth around his arm.

The world around him seemed to slow. Bilbo knew he was too far away to reach him in time. Before he quite knew what he was doing, he'd slipped his gun from his pocket and fired.

The walker's head exploded, dark blood and bits of bone spraying against the car window. Thorin froze for a second, then his wide blue eyes found Bilbo.

"What the hell was that?"

Bilbo scarcely dared to breathe as he lowered his gun and rushed towards him. "Are you bit? D-Did it…?"

Thorin spared a moment to roll up his sleeve. A dark, mouth-shaped bruise was already forming on his forearm, but it looked as though none of the skin was broken. If he'd been a second later…

He turned back to him, and Bilbo was surprised and a bit outraged to see a glare on his face. "Do you realize what you just did?"

Bilbo drew himself up. "Well, I—"

But then it hit him, and he turned to the other end of the bridge. The herd of walkers, as well as any stragglers, had no doubt heard the gunshot. Already, he could see a few bodies making their way back towards them.

"We have to go." Thorin grabbed his shoulder and shoved him towards the RV. "Now!"

He swallowed his indignation for the moment and sprinted towards the end of the bridge where the rest of their group was. A walker stepped out from behind a truck, reaching for him, but Thorin shot it in the head.

At the end of the bridge, someone cried out, and another gunshot sounded. Bilbo reached the rest of the group to find both cars were turned around and the RV was nearly there. He counted five heads in the former two, and hurried into the RV with Thorin right on his heels.

"We have everyone?" Thorin asked, looking around the small space for a quick headcount—Bombur in the driver's seat with Nori sitting next to him, Ori and Dori seated at the table, and Fíli peeking out of the bedroom door with wide eyes.

"I think that's everyone," Nori said. He had his feet propped on the dash as though they hadn't just had a harrowing escape from a herd of walkers. "Floor it, Bombur."

"Let me see your hand," Dori said, tugging at Ori's sleeve. "You're bleeding."

"Fíli." Thorin crossed the RV, putting a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Bilbo braced a hand on the kitchenette counter and sighed. As much as he didn't want to ruin the moment, he had to address what had happened back there. "Thorin."

Thorin turned back to him, his expression darkening. "What you did back there—"

"Was save your life." He straightened up. He wasn't about to let Thorin bulldoze the conversation again. "If I hadn't shot that walker, it would have bit you."

"I had it under control," Thorin said, taking a step forward, and Bilbo let out an incredulous laugh. "That gunshot could have had the whole herd on us before we got out, and then one of us _would_ have gotten bit."

"Are you kidding me?" Bilbo shot back, his voice nearly at a shout. He staggered as Bombur made a sharp turn, and braced one hand against the table, where Dori was still pestering his brother. "Yes, I took a risk. Yes, it was dangerous. In case you haven't noticed, there's flesh-eating dead people wandering about! Of course it was fucking dangerous, and I still saved your life! If anything, I deserve a thank you!"

Fíli peeked out from behind Thorin, his eyes wide. In the passenger seat, Nori gave a low whistle.

Thorin drew himself up as well, looking like an angry bear. "You seem to think," he said, his voice low but still dangerous, "that you can put everyone else at risk if it suits your idea of—"

"You were about to get bit! And everyone survived! Everyone is okay!" Bilbo knew he wasn't about to come to any sort of agreement with Thorin while shouting like this, but he needed to blow off some steam. "You think you're keeping everyone safe with your paranoia, but—"

"_Ori,_" Dori said, and the horror in his voice was enough to make him stop.

Bilbo turned to see him clutching his brother's arm, staring at the red mark on his hand, just below his thumb. Ori's face had almost drained entirely of color.

The RV went silent, except for the humming of the engine, and Bilbo realized that no, it wasn't just a smear of the red marker that Ori used in his sketches. There was blood, running in tiny rivers from the small, separated wounds in his skin.

It was, very clearly, the wound from a set of teeth.

**So by now you probably all know why the story got bumped up to M, and oof...that was not a fun scene to write.**


	13. Chapter 13

**I'm sure you all know what is about to happen. If you're not comfortable with reading about an amputation, please skip to the next line break.** **Chapter 13**

"What happened?" Nori stood from the passenger seat in an easy, casual motion and made for the booth. "You get another scraped knee, or—" He saw Ori's hand and stopped dead.

Fíli pushed his way forward and took in the scene, then looked up at Thorin. "Is he bit?"

Bilbo leaned against the counter, swallowing back his dizziness, and looked to Thorin as well. His face was pale, the panic and fear shining in his eyes making a chill run down his spine. But it was only there for a moment before he jumped into action. He slipped off his belt and wrapped it around the middle of Ori's forearm, pulling it as tight as he could.

"Bombur, signal the others. We need to get Óin in here."

"Is he—" Bombur stopped, his voice cracking slightly, and pressed down on the horn.

"What do you think you're doing?" Dori sounded breathless. "Are you really suggesting that we—that we cut off—"

"It's the only way to save him," Thorin said, his voice ragged. "We stop the virus from reaching the rest of his body, he might have a chance. It's our only option."

Dori opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue, but Nori cut him off. "He's right. We have to do this."

Fíli glanced between Thorin and Ori, his jaw trembling. Bilbo reached out for him and pulled him to the front of the RV, bracing himself against the wall as it slowed down.

"When Óin gets on, I want you to trade places with him, alright?" he said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Is Ori gonna be okay?" Fíli looked up at him, searching his face with pleading eyes.

"We—We'll take care of him," he said, trying to control his shaky breaths. He didn't even want to think about what had to happen next. All he could do was make sure Fíli didn't have to witness it.

When the RV pulled to a stop, Bilbo took Fíli's hand and led him outside, sparing a quick glance around to make sure there were no walkers nearby. They hurried to Dwalin's truck, where Óin's fluffy gray hair was visible in the passenger seat. He rapped on the window, and Óin opened the door.

"W-We need you in the RV," he said.

Dwalin frowned and leaned forward. "What the hell happened?"

Bilbo could only shake his head, feeling cold, and stepped back as Óin climbed out of the truck and made his way towards the RV.

Glóin stepped out of the backseat and motioned to Fíli. "Take my seat." She helped him inside and climbed in next to Dwalin.

"Okay." With his task completed, Bilbo hurried back to the RV. Dís shot him a questioning glance from the other car as he passed, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He had barely stepped inside the RV before they were moving again. They couldn't risk the herd catching up to them.

"...rubbing alcohol, a serrated knife, and as many spare cloths as you can find," Óin was saying. "And I need everyone out of the way. These are hardly ideal conditions as is, and it won't help if you're all crowding me."

"Bullshit," Nori said at the same time Dori cried, "He's my brother!"

Before Óin could respond, Ori spoke, his voice barely audible over the rumble of the engine. "Please." He looked to be on the verge of tears. "I'll be okay. Just go."

"A-Are you sure?" Dori asked.

"Let's just go." Nori grabbed his arm, his shoulders sagging, and they both walked into the bedroom.

"Here." Thorin returned from the closet, a bundle of cloth in one hand and a mostly-empty bottle of rubbing alcohol in the other. He set it on the table and pulled the knife from his belt. It was a large one, lethally sharp at the end and serrated on one side of the blade. "You can use mine."

Óin nodded and grabbed a towel from the bundle, spreading it on the table. He lay Ori's arm on top of it and doused another cloth with alcohol, which he used to clean the knife. "I need you to hold him down."

Thorin glanced at him, uncertainty flashing in his gaze again, but moved into the opposite side of the booth and placed his hand over Ori's.

Nori walked back over to the table, thrusting out a flask with one hand. "You'll need a steady hand," he said, his voice uncharacteristically stiff. "Give the rest to my brother."

Óin grunted a thanks and took a swig, then handed it to Ori, who only barely managed to choke down what was left inside.

Nori went to go sit in the back with Dori, but Bilbo stayed where he was, his muscles frozen. He knew he should join them, that there was no reason for him to stand by and watch, but he couldn't move.

He'd witnessed a bad car crash as a child, peeking from the back window of his father's car, and had watched every gory detail of it—the shattering windows, the explosion of dust, what had happened to the people inside. He hadn't been able to look away.

It was the same now, as he stood stiffly and watched Óin line up the knife against Ori's arm. Ori was taking shaky, controlled breaths, staring at his own hand and the wounds on it, though Bilbo could tell he wasn't really seeing it.

"It's alright," Thorin said, his voice sounding strangely distant. "You're going to be fine." He placed his other hand on the inside of Ori's elbow.

And without any more preparation left to do, Óin began cutting into him.

At the first sight of blood, the way it welled up and immediately soaked into the towel beneath, Bilbo couldn't move at all. Ori began to scream immediately, the wretched sound filling the whole room. It was only when the wound grew deeper that Bilbo was finally able to turn away, the screams filling his senses as tears welled in his eyes. He leaned over the sink, scarcely able to hear his own heaving breaths.

When the screams did stop, it was only a second before Thorin asked, "What happened?" The sharp edge of panic in his voice lanced through the silence.

"He's passed out," Óin said, sounding as if there was something stuck in his throat. "Try and keep him upright. I'm almost done."

The awful grating noise of the knife was still audible, and Bilbo pressed a hand to his mouth. He was going to be sick.

It seemed an eternity had passed before Óin said, "All right. Take the rest of those and put pressure on the—on the wound. I'll wrap this up. Bilbo."

At the sound of his name, he turned around, and was entirely unprepared for the sight behind him. Ori was leaning against the window, and he almost could have imagined that he was only sleeping if it weren't for the deathly pallor of his skin. Thorin had a bundle of cloth pressed against the remainder of his arm, sticky red blood clinging to his fingers.

But it was the red that really caught his attention. It had almost entirely soaked the towel laid out on the table. It was already seeping through a small bundle next to the red-stained knife, which undoubtedly contained the…

Bilbo watched a tiny rivulet of blood run across the table and drip down onto the floor and swayed.

"Bandages." Óin swatted him hard on the arm, knocking him back to his senses. "Third shelf in the closet. We're not done here yet, understand?"

Nodding numbly, Bilbo made his way over to the closet, his muddled mind imagining that each step on the dark carpet squelched with the blood soaked through. He found the rolls of bandages where Óin had said they would be and grabbed a couple.

The door to the bedroom opened, and Dori and Nori pushed past him. Neither of them were able to say anything before Óin was snapping for them to get out of the way. Bilbo shook himself and hurried over, passing the bandages to him.

"Is he gonna live?" Nori asked, his voice flat. Dori said nothing, simply staring at his brother with tears running down his face.

"If the bleeding stops soon, and he doesn't get an infection, he'll live. The bandages will help with that." Óin wrapped the white fabric around Ori's arm with steady hands. "Let's get him into the bedroom. We need to keep his arm elevated."

Thorin went to lift Ori by the shoulders, while Nori took his legs. Together they carried him into the bedroom, with Óin holding the door open and Dori trailing behind them.

That left Bilbo standing alone in the space, which reeked of blood. Needing something to do with his hands, he put the bandages back and grabbed another couple of towels. He wiped up the rest of the blood on the table and deposited the soiled cloth in a plastic bag.

A sharp knock on the outer door made him jump. He looked towards the front of the vehicle with wide eyes, where Bombur was turned around in the driver's seat.

"We should be safe from the herd for now," he said. "Is Ori…?"

"I-I don't know," Bilbo managed. He walked towards the door, his movements almost automatic, and opened it.

They'd stopped at a gas station. The two cars were parked just ahead, but everyone had gotten out and was crowded around the RV.

Balin held out a steadying hand as Bilbo stumbled down the stairs and onto the pavement. "What happened, lad?"

"Ori," he said, and took a deep breath. He felt light-headed. "H-He got bit on the hand, and…"

A distressed murmur went through the group.

"Well, how is he?" Bofur asked.

"He's bit?" Kíli's voice sounded from somewhere between the taller adults. "Mom, Mom does that mean—"

"Can we see him?" Víli stepped forward.

"Hey, give him some room." Brana moved in front of him, shooing the others away, and directed Bilbo to sit on the steps. She knelt down in front of him. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," Bilbo whispered, and the first tears began to fall.

She pulled him close, and as sobs racked his body, he realized belatedly that he'd gotten blood on the back of her shirt.

* * *

The setting sun cast the shadows of the trees and the cars in long black smears across the pavement. Thorin barely noticed any of it, his gaze focused on the patches of blood staining his hands.

He'd seen men die before, had the blood of others well up beneath his fingers. He'd seen gunfire and dust and, against all odds, survived with his body intact. But there had been a new horror in seeing someone as innocent as Ori suffer through that kind of pain, feeling his weak muscles strain under his hands as he fought against an agony that none of them could imagine.

And beneath it all had been the dreaded realization that it could have been him in Ori's place, if the turn of events had been different.

Something white flashed in the corner of his vision, and he looked up to see Bilbo offering him a damp cloth. His gaze was focused on the distance, his face pale and drawn.

Thorin accepted the cloth and began cleaning his hands. Bilbo sat next to him on the hood of his car with a sigh.

They sat in silence for a long while. The others were either in the RV with Ori, who hadn't woken up yet, or inside the small gas station store. He knew he owed Bilbo an apology, and wished they didn't have to keep doing this. He wanted to understand him, to work with him so they could both keep the group safe.

"You were right," he said finally. "You saved my life, back there."

Bilbo half-glanced towards him, not quite meeting his eyes, and nodded. His admission wasn't a victory, not after all today had cost them.

He turned his forearm, looking at the purple bruise the walker's teeth had left on his skin. "I thought I would have been able to do it. To...To make a sacrifice like that for the sake of the group."

"But you didn't have to." Bilbo laid a hand on his arm, over the bruise. His palm was warm, traces of blood still visible under his nails. "Look, I-I meant what I said before. We're all here, doing this together. We all protect each other in...in what ways we can."

He took his hand away, and Thorin resisted the urge to reach out and keep it there. Bilbo had an undeniable comforting presence about him, a warm blend of kindness and optimism, and he felt himself leaning into it at the moment.

"And that means trusting each other." Bilbo gave him a meaningful look. "Trusting that we know what we're doing."

Thorin nodded, lowering his gaze to the pavement. If there was one thing today had taught him, it was that none of them would be able to brave this road alone.

"And speaking of…" He shifted a little. "There's something I need to tell you. Something I learned while we were in Rivendell."

* * *

"Well, another one bites the dust." Víli stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at the open front of the RV.

Thorin ran a hand over his beard. "You're sure?"

Next to him, Glóin tapped a wrench against her thigh. "Yep. This thing is toast."

He muttered a curse under his breath. "Alright. Let's get everyone off, start loading things into the car."

"Thorin, we can't fit seventeen people into two cars."

Glóin was right. No matter which way he turned it, if the RV broke down, then the rest of their cars were useless. They would have to continue on foot, down the stretch of wooded highway where they'd been forced to stop.

"Nori," he said, nodding to him as he stepped out of the RV.

"Thing's broken, huh?" He slapped the side of the vehicle.

"How's your brother?" Thorin asked. "Can he walk?"

"He should be able to," Nori said, his expression dimming slightly. "Might have to take a few breaks, though."

Ori had woken up a couple of days ago, and had stayed weak and withdrawn, though he hadn't been lacking in comfort or care during that time. Dori had constantly been on call for anything his brother might have needed, and Nori had done his best to entertain him as well. Bilbo sat and read to him occasionally, and Fíli and Kíli had made a get well card out of some scrap paper.

"Let's start taking the supplies out, then. We'll try and divide up the weight between those who can carry it." With that, he went to relay the message to everyone in the cars.

He returned to find Nori helping Ori out of the RV, the latter's face pale as he descended the steps. The remainder of his arm was still swathed in white bandages, and his sleeve was rolled up so it wouldn't get in the way.

Thorin made his way to the door, meaning to look around and see how much of their supplies they needed to carry, and stepped out of the way as Bombur climbed out. Brana followed him, but she swayed on the last step and fell forward with a gasp. Thorin's hands shot out to steady her.

"Are you alright?" As he pulled back to look at her, he noticed a thin sheen of sweat across her forehead.

Brana nodded, not meeting his eyes. A moment later, Glóin was at her side, looking her over. She nodded to Thorin as if to say, _I got this_.

He frowned inwardly, sensing there was more to the situation than the two of them were letting on, but decided that could be addressed later. He let her go and climbed into the RV to look over their supplies.

Their main problem turned out to be not how many supplies they had to carry, but the containers in which to carry them. Looking back, it had been an oversight on his part not to start looking for backpacks and other bags in case they were forced to walk for whatever reason.

In the end, they managed to improvise with garbage bags and tied up clothing, with the unspoken promise that they would keep an eye out for more conventional bags along the way.

And with one last glance at the abandoned vehicles, they started walking down the road.

"Are you sure you've got that?" Thorin asked as he watched Balin adjust the straps of his pack with a slight grimace.

"Of course I do," he said with a reproachful glance. "I'm not that old yet."

"Still," he said, glancing around at their group. "I'd rather not push anyone too hard." They had children in their group, along with a few elderly people and now someone recovering from an amputation. He would have to be mindful, from now on, of the limitations of the group.

He wondered briefly how things would have been different if it had been just him, Dwalin, Glóin, and Bifur—people who had served before, who knew how to survive and were used to harsh conditions. They would have been able to cover more ground, watch each other's backs against walkers. Perhaps just the four of them would have been able to carve out a sense of security in this new world.

But it was enough to know that Fíli and Kíli were safe and with their parents, that Ori had the support of his brothers despite all that happened. The whole of their group made it possible to have something more, to have something of a home wherever they chose to look for it. Thorin found his gaze lingering on Bilbo, who was walking ahead of him.

No, their current group was more than enough.

They stopped before the sun went down, at Dori's insistence once Ori's footsteps began to falter. Brana also looked rather ill as they settled down in the woods next to the road, but he trusted Glóin and her brother to take care of her.

Balin settled down on a fallen log with a sigh, rubbing at his knee, though he stopped and shook his head when he noticed him looking. Thorin said nothing and moved on, making a quick scan of their perimeter to make sure there was nothing dangerous nearby.

Dwalin had suggested they continue using one or both of the cars, either to scout ahead or carry those like Ori who would have trouble walking long distances. But others in their group had quickly shut down the idea. There were too many risks involved in splitting their group like that, especially if they didn't have a home base of sorts to return to.

"Uncle Thorin."

He looked down to find Fíli stepping over a fallen branch on his way towards him. He stopped and looked up at him, eyes bright.

"I wanna go on watch tonight."

Thorin raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the statement. "Why?"

"'Cause everyone else gets to do it except me and Kíli." He shrugged, almost defensively. "I just have to sit and look out for stuff, right?"

He opened his mouth, trying to think of a reason to argue with him, but he couldn't think of much. Eventually Fíli would need to learn how to protect himself and others. The only reason why he hadn't started to teach him how to use a gun was that he knew Dís would probably strangle him in his sleep.

"Fine. If your mother agrees, you can stay on watch with me tonight."

"Okay!" Fíli beamed and made a beeline for Dís.

His cheer was infectious, and the rest of the group talked and laughed as they ate dinner around a small fire. Though beneath it all was a buzzing layer of tension—this was their first time sleeping completely unprotected, without any buildings or vehicles to provide shelter if something went wrong. Thorin posted himself at one corner of the camp, with Víli, Óin, and Bofur standing around the perimeter as well. The dark of the forest made him uneasy, each movement of a branch or snap of a twig carrying the threat of an approaching walker. But it wouldn't make sense for them to camp on the road, where another car could bear down on them before they had the chance to move.

He kept himself vigilant, though he did spare a glance behind as Brana said, "There's, um, something I need to say." The clearing fell quiet as they all looked at her expectantly.

She stayed seated, hands knotted in her lap, and Glóin put a protective hand on her back. Thorin guessed this had something to do with her episode earlier that day, and frowned inwardly as the silence began to close in.

"I've known about this for a few weeks," she continued. "And I wanted to make sure I knew what I was doing before telling the rest of you." Brana took a deep breath. "Well, I'm pregnant. And I'm going to keep it."

No one said anything for a long moment. Glóin was searching everyone's faces, as though daring someone to challenge what had just been said. Dori's lips were pressed tightly together, though he said nothing.

"So, have you started thinking of baby names?" Bofur asked, and this prompted a few chuckles.

"We're not quite there yet," Brana said with a slight smile. "But we're open to suggestions."

"We're gonna have a cousin!" Kíli ran to her and bent down. "Can I hear it kick?"

Everyone laughed at that, and the tension eased somewhat as everyone began talking once more. Bilbo was smiling, the fire bringing out the copper in his curly hair, and Thorin reminded himself that he was supposed to be on watch.

As he turned back to the darkened trees, he let worry fall over his brow. They would do everything they could do protect Brana and her child, but having a baby in their group would exponentially increase their risk of being found by walkers or others.

They needed to find a shelter, a place to call home—and soon.

**I'm so sorry, guys. That was...not fun to write. Next chapter will be a little fluffier to make up for it. And updates****might be a little slower from now on, since I started working again and I sprained my ankle and I have to get my wisdom teeth out soon. But I'll try my best to keep the regular schedule.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Bilbo brushed aside a leaf with the back of his hand and inspected the tomato behind it. The branch was practically drooping with the weight of the ripe fruit. He plucked it off and swiped a thumb over the smooth red surface. The garden of the abandoned house was on its way to being choked with weeds, but a few of the plants were still ready to be harvested. With a considering hum, he popped it into his mouth.

"Eew!" Kíli, who had been idly playing with a soccer ball in the backyard, made a face. "Why'd you just eat that?"

He swallowed and put his hands on his hips. "It's a tomato! Just because _some of us_ don't like fruits and vegetables doesn't mean they don't taste good."

Kíli dropped the ball and went to inspect the garden with him. "What if there are worms inside of them?"

"Well, then, that's just a bit of extra protein," Bilbo ruffled his hair with a smile, and laughed as he darted away with a disgusted noise. Still chuckling, he took a plastic bag from his pack and began filling it with tomatoes and cucumbers.

They'd found a small farmhouse on the side of the road and decided to take a look around. Most of the group was looking around inside, and Dwalin and Víli had gone around front to see if any of the vehicles were working.

"Find anything good?" Brana asked, striding out of the house. She already had a baby bump, and despite Glóin and Óin's pestering, she refused to stay seated for long.

Bilbo held up his bag. "Just some vegetables. Gotta stay healthy, right? Especially you." He nodded at her stomach.

"Of course," she said with a slight smile. "I'm thinking we'll need to find a store soon, start gathering supplies."

"What kind of supplies are you thinking?" he asked, placing the last of the tomatoes in the bag and standing up.

"Vitamins, painkillers, any medical supplies Óin might need. And some new jeans before I bust out of these." She shrugged. "And this might be thinking too far ahead, but we should probably start looking for formula, too."

"Right." He let out a small laugh. "Formula, and a crib, and diapers… I don't think I've fully wrapped my head around it, that we're going to have a baby in the group soon."

"Not sure I've wrapped my head around it, either." Brana placed a hand on her stomach. "Keeps me up at night sometimes."

Kíli returned from around the corner, trying with concentrated effort to push a scooter through the grass. He eventually gave up and left it on the ground, then jogged the rest of the way to the garden. "Are you gonna have a boy or a girl?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Won't know until the baby comes out."

"I hope it's a boy. I need someone on my team for Smash Bros, 'cause Fíli always beats me."

Brana smiled. "If it's a girl, I'm sure she'd still play Smash with you."

"Hang on, what is...Smash Bros?" Bilbo looked back and forth between the two of them. Though Fíli and Kíli could get rather rough at times, he cringed at the thought of them hitting each other hard enough to be considered _smashing_.

"It's just a video game." Her smile grew wider. "They're not actually hitting each other."

"Oh." He let out a sigh of relief.

Kíli ran over and grabbed his hand. "Hey, you can be on my team! You're a grownup, so Fíli will have no chance."

"Um, all right." He'd always been more of a bookish person, and didn't have the slightest idea how to go about playing a video game, but it couldn't be that hard if Fíli and Kíli had some skill in it. "Well, next time we look for supplies, maybe we can look around for some games."

"Okay!" Kíli grinned and raced towards the house, nearly knocking into Thorin as he stepped outside. "Hey, Fíli! Bilbo just said…"

"Are you both ready?" Thorin asked, walking towards them. "We're moving on."

"Let me just grab my things from inside." Brana headed for the door.

Bilbo knelt down to put the bag of vegetables inside his pack. "I picked some stuff from the garden. It's not much, but it's fresh food."

"That's good," Thorin said, stepping closer. "We didn't find much inside."

"Maybe we'll have better luck in the next town." He stood up and adjusted the straps on his shoulders.

He glanced back at the house as more people stepped outside. "He looks up to you. Kíli."

"Oh. Well." Bilbo felt a blush stain his cheeks. "He has quite a few people to look up to." Sometimes he wondered what it was doing to the boys, to be the only children in a group of adults. He didn't want them to grow up too fast, forget to be children—though something like that was hard to avoid given the current state of the world.

Thorin was looking at him with a slight smile, and he gestured with his chin for them to start walking towards the road. "The benefits of being an uncle. You get to do all the fun things with them while Dís and Víli are stuck with the actual parenting."

He chuckled as he fell into stride next to him. "I'm sure that must be nice."

"You know that goes for you, too." Thorin's expression was serious, now. "We consider you part of the family."

For a moment, Bilbo was speechless. This wasn't a surprise, exactly—he'd known for quite some time that he considered the group a family of sorts, that he loved Fíli and Kíli as he would his own nephews. But to hear it spoken out loud, and from Thorin of all people, created a burst of warmth in his chest.

"Well, um." He looked away so he could discreetly blink back tears. "I do feel the same, about all of you."

Thorin reached over to briefly squeeze his shoulder, and Bilbo couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as they walked down the road together.

* * *

It was a relief when they finally came across another sign of civilization. The farmland had stretched out for a few days, which had then turned into a forest that seemed to go on forever, and that had been enough to deplete their food supplies to worrying levels.

The road finally led them to a small town, and they'd made a beeline for the strip mall on the right. However, a strange sight caused them all to stop just on the side of the road.

A chain link fence had been set up around the perimeter of the parking lot, and inside were a number of green canvas tents. Bilbo could spot a few trucks of the same color as well. And, of course, no one could miss the dark splotches of blood in a couple spots on the pavement.

"Spread out, but stay within shouting distance, alright?" Thorin said to the group. He nudged open the chain link gate with his rifle and led the way inside.

"Can I come?" Fíli asked Dís as the others followed Thorin through the gate. "I can stay close. And I can help look for supplies."

"It's too dangerous." Dís shook her head. "Go wait with your father." She gestured with her head towards where Víli was standing with Kíli.

"But I can help." Fíli turned to Bilbo. "Can I go with you?"

"Well—" Bilbo stammered, caught off guard by the question. "Your mother is right. It's not safe. We'll certainly be fine without your help."

Scowling, Fíli stalked off without another word. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dís flash him a hurt look.

"I-I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to...I mean, I didn't know he would…"

"It's not your fault," she said, her expression clearing somewhat. "Kíli tries that stuff with Víli and I all the time." She nudged him with her elbow. "But thanks for taking my side."

Dwalin stepped up beside them, and Bilbo realized they were the last ones outside the fence, besides the boys, Víli, and Ori. "You're going to have to give him a chance eventually."

Dís shot him a glare, and Bilbo was mildly surprised that Dwalin's eyebrows didn't catch fire from the heat of it. "I am not giving my twelve-year-old son a gun."

"One day he might need it." With a shrug, Dwalin walked through the gate.

"I've heard him express things like that before. Carrying a weapon, protecting the group," Bilbo said as they followed him inside and drew their weapons. He thought back to the dart gun Fíli had carried around with him initially, though he had eventually lost all of the foam bullets. "But I suppose he's only got a certain image in his head, of the heroism of…" he gestured at the gun in his hand, "and not all the horrible things that can come from it."

She nodded. "He's always wanted to protect other people. I can't imagine how he must have felt when it was just him and Kíli." She glanced back towards the fence. "But I just want them to...stay kids, you know? While they can."

Bilbo gave a rueful smile. "I know what you mean."

They walked into the department store, which was only dimly lit by the light shining through the glass doors.

Dís nudged him again. "I'm gonna go find Brana, help her pick out some clothes and medicine. You'll be alright by yourself?"

"Of course. Good luck."

With that, they set off in opposite directions, with Dís heading towards the health section and Bilbo going to grab a wire basket. He knew the others would have the search for food covered, as he could already see the glare of their flashlights by the grocery section, and decided to see to some of the less necessary supplies. He thought the group could use a bit of a morale boost after the last few days.

Board games were out of the question, since they were too bulky to carry around. He briefly considered the action figures, since Kíli had been talking about Captain something or other, but the section was in such a disarray that he didn't even know where to start.

A low crackle sounded down the aisle, making him tense. Holding his gun out in front of him, Bilbo crept towards the source of the noise. He rounded the corner quickly, ready to shoot, and caught a glimpse of Bofur's face before the illumination of his flashlight filled his vision.

"Shit," Bofur said. "You're unbelievably quiet, you know that?"

"Yeah," Bilbo said, blinking rapidly. "Mind getting that thing out of my face?"

"Right." He lowered the light, and Bilbo waited for the white spots in his vision to disappear. "You find anything good?"

"Not yet. You?"

"Found this." Bofur lifted a blue baseball cap and slapped it onto his own hat. "What do you think?"

Bilbo snorted a laugh. "I think you look ridiculous."

"Really?" He picked up a cowboy hat and placed it onto the stack. "I think I'm onto something, here."

"You are a true pioneer of post-apocalyptic fashion. All you need now is a fedora."

"You're absolutely right. I can't believe I forgot." Bofur bowed to him, using one hand to keep his hats on, then walked away.

Shaking his head with a smile, Bilbo continued on. He made his way towards the video game section, wondering if he could find the Crash game that Kíli wanted (though it wouldn't do them much good without power), when something knocked against his foot. He looked down to find an instant camera, still in its package with extra batteries and rolls of film.

He picked it up, considering. Ori's health had improved somewhat in the past few days, but he'd been struggling with his sketchbook. He'd lost his dominant hand, and the drawing that had once been so beautifully detailed were shaky and quickly crumpled up. There was nothing Bilbo could do to help with that, but perhaps he would appreciate the camera.

The rest of the toy section didn't have much, though he did look for a long while at the shelf of baby toys. That seemed a bit too premature, though, and they didn't need to be carrying unnecessary things anyway.

The rest of the group was waiting just outside when he walked through the doors, camera in hand. Brana had a couple items of clothing slung over one arm, and Glóin and Bifur were both carrying plastic baskets half-filled with food.

Bilbo looked over everyone's faces, noticing for the first time the unhappy atmosphere. "Is...Is that it?"

"We'll keep looking." Thorin began walking away from the store, gesturing to one of the green tents as he walked. "The military must have cleared this place out."

With that, they all left the parking lot, the chilly breeze bringing the first warnings of winter.

* * *

Thorin set his pack down against a tree and paused, noting the slight tremor in his hand. He turned to look at the rest of the group, scattered about the clearing where they'd chose to make camp. They were all dirty and exhausted and incredibly hungry.

Bofur went to work setting up their security system, which consisted of a roll of string and several empty cans. He threaded the cans on the string and began tying them around the trees. Any disturbance to the tripwire of sorts would alert them of walkers nearby. Thorin still had people sit on watch, but it didn't hurt to have an extra security measure.

Kíli tugged on his mother's arm. "Mom, I'm hungry."

Dís looked to him. "How are we doing on food?"

"I'll let you know." Thorin walked over to Bifur, who was carrying most of their rations. It helped to have it in one place, to more easily figure out how to divvy up what little they had left.

Bifur saw him coming and knelt down to open his pack. They peered inside together and groaned in unison.

"Thought it was getting lighter," Bifur said. "I didn't realize it was this bad."

They had two cans of beans left, five granola bars, and half a package of stale crackers. It wasn't enough for seventeen people, and hadn't been for a while. Most of them had been going entire days without any food, and Dori had nearly passed out the previous day. Everyone suspected most of his rations had been going to his youngest brother.

"We can give a couple of granola bars to the boys, another to Ori," Thorin said. "We can give half a can to Brana tonight, save the rest for tomorrow."

"Sounds good." Bifur let out a low chuckle. "Remember how we were stressin' about the food back at the motel? Seems like a feast now."

Thorin grunted in agreement. He still sometimes wished they would have been able to stay at the motel, but they would have run out of food eventually and been forced to move on. Bilbo had had the right idea with the orchard—they needed somewhere sustainable.

Bifur went to pass out the food, and Thorin sat against a nearby tree, feeling a little light-headed himself. The hunger had been a near-constant presence, only drowned out by the anxiety gnawing at the back of his mind. There was no way to tell if they were just having bad luck or if every store for fifty miles had been cleared out. It terrified him to think they would start losing people before (_if_) they found more food.

Dís flopped down next to him, shaking him from his thoughts. "If I told you I was pregnant, would you let me split that can of beans with Brana?"

Thorin sent her a deadpan stare, and was met with a pleading expression that, under normal circumstances, would have convinced him to do just about anything. "Are you?"

"Nah. But I've been craving yogurt all day."

"I don't think we're going to find that any time soon."

He frowned, turning back to the campsite. Even if they did manage to find a way to grow or make their own food, there were too many things that could go wrong. None of them were farmers. Bilbo, at least, knew something about gardening. He glanced over to where he was sitting with Ori, his curly hair stuck to his forehead with sweat after the long day's walk.

They needed him if they were going to grow their own food, they needed Óin in case someone got sick or injured, they needed to keep the boys alive and make sure Brana was able to take care of her baby, and it was possible the rest of them would have to go hungry to make that happen.

He loathed having to decide which of their lives had more value over the other, even if it was something as small as choosing who was able to eat that night. He'd been looking at the situation in black and white for far too long, had let himself believe that they would all make it through, or none of them would. But if he had to choose one life over another—

Dís elbowed him in the side. "Stop it."

Thorin turned and shot her a glare. "What?"

"You're doing that thing again." She nudged him more gently. "You just sit there worrying and twist yourself up into a knot, and then the first person who talks to you gets their head bitten off."

"Well, there's a lot to worry about." He rested his forearms against his knees. "And I don't...bite people's heads off."

Dís gave a noncommittal hum. "You'd make a good walker."

"Shut up." He shook his head, smiling slightly as she snickered.

"Look, things could be a lot worse. Find something that makes you happy and try and enjoy yourself. Save your worrying energy for some actual crisis management." She looked around the camp. "God, Kíli had granola all over his face. I'll be back." She stood up and walked away.

_Find something that makes you happy_. Thorin glanced down at his dirt-smeared knuckles. The thought had barely crossed his mind, he'd been so focused on taking care of the group. He looked up again, over to where Bilbo was helping Ori with his instant camera. His brow was furrowed with concentration as he studied the device, though a small smile lifted his lips as he muttered something to Ori.

Bilbo glanced up, meeting Thorin's eyes from across the clearing. His heart skipped a beat as he realized he'd been caught staring, and he looked away.

The clatter of metal cut through the air, and everyone froze. Before the noise had even died down, the growls of a walker became audible.

"I'm on it." Víli strode towards the noise, taking out his knife.

Thorin pushed himself to his feet, bracing himself against the tree as white sparks showered his vision. When he'd steadied himself, he followed Víli to find that he'd already stabbed the walker in the head and thrown it to the ground. Three more, however, were staggering through the trees.

"I'll go around," Thorin said, and drew his own knife.

He circled towards the back of the small group, keeping alert for any more that might be wandering through the trees. He took out the one in the back, then the next just as Víli finished off the last one.

"These look pretty fresh," Víli said with a frown, nudging one with his foot.

"Something must have killed them recently." Thorin looked up at him. "Let's sweep the perimeter. I want to make sure there's nothing dangerous out there."

"Alright." He darted briefly back into camp to let the others know where they were going, then the two of them set off. They walked for a while in the direction the walkers had come, hoping it would potentially lead them to whatever had killed them, though the dead were hardly known for walking in straight lines.

"I didn't see any bites on them, either," Víli said. "Just bullet, or maybe knife wounds. They were probably killed by other people."

"Let's turn the flashlights off. If that's true, I don't want anyone to know we're coming."

They crept through the brush, ears straining to hear anything that might indicate a walker or otherwise. Up ahead, a broad gray shape was visible through the trees, and Thorin motioned for Víli to slow down.

They drew their guns and moved to the edge of the trees. A large building, probably some sort of warehouse, was set about twenty feet ahead, off the road they'd been walking down earlier that day. They circled around to look at the entrance, and found a strange sight.

The front doors had been barricaded by a set of wooden structures, the ends of which had been sharpened into spikes. A couple of walkers had been impaled on them, and clawed at the wood ineffectually as they struggled to move. Between the two structures was a long smear of blood, as though something dead or dying had been dragged outside.

"Now that," Víli said, "is definitely worth looking into."

**Apologies for the delay in updates...long story short, I got into a car accident, had strep throat, and got my wisdom teeth out all in the same week, and my job's turnover rate is shit so they've been dumping a lot of work on me. But I promise I plan to finish this story, and god dammit I will. Eventually.**

**Anyway, m****y plan if a zombie apocalypse ever does go down is to hide in a Costco or something. If I get there early enough, they're bound to have plenty of supplies and few enough exits that it would be pretty easy to defend. (Because that's definitely a normal thing to think about.)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Stepping carefully through the underbrush, Bilbo made his way to where Dwalin and Víli were crouched at the edge of the forest.

Thorin was right beside him, and he crouched down as well. "Anything?"

Dwalin lowered his binoculars. "Nothing. But that doesn't mean much."

They'd been staking out the building for the past day, waiting to see if there was anyone inside.

"I know this place," Bilbo said. "Greenwood Wholesale. They sell things in bulk. You think there are still supplies in there?"

"Well, they're protecting something," Thorin said, gesturing to the sharp wooden structures standing sentinel outside the doors. Bilbo grimaced at the spikes darkened with blood—it looked like something out of a medieval history book.

"We should make a move soon," Dwalin said, "or we'll all starve to death out there."

"Couldn't we, I don't know, draw them out or something?" Bilbo suggested. The others turned to him with questioning glances. "I mean, we could set off a car alarm or something. If someone comes to check on it, then we'll have a better idea of who we're dealing with."

"I'd rather not do anything that would give ourselves away," Thorin said. "A car alarm would attract more walkers, too."

"Right." His stomach cramped, and he suppressed a wince. It was hard to think for long about anything that wasn't food.

"We'll see if there's a back entrance that's open, send a small group to look around. And if there's anyone inside…" He paused, the furrow in his brow deepening. "We'll find a way to deal with it."

Bilbo rubbed the slight chill that spread on his arms. Had it really come to this, where they would possibly have to kill for their next meal?

He walked back to camp with Thorin, where everyone was sitting in near silence. Their collective hunger had sapped the group of their energy.

But Thorin still looked confident and collected as ever as he said, "Nori, we need you. Glóin, you too." He turned to look at him. "Bilbo, you're pretty light on your feet. Come with us."

"Alright." Trying to hide the burst of heat on his cheeks, he followed the other three back towards the warehouse. He wasn't sure why Thorin had chosen him specifically to come along, but it was nice to know that he trusted him enough to offer. He'd come a long way from making snide comments about his survival skills.

After signaling to Dwalin and Víli, they circled around to the back of the building, where the loading bays were. There were three large sliding doors, all of them shut. After scanning the area, Thorin motioned them to cross the pavement.

Bilbo could feel his heart pounding as they ran to the building. It felt a bit like they were on some sort of covert mission, and he would have been rather thrilled by the idea if he wasn't starving.

Glóin and Thorin took up positions on either side of the door and began lifting it, slowly so that it wouldn't creak too loudly.

"Damn, this thing is heavy." Glóin adjusted her grip with a wince. "Nori, you feel like helping?"

"Right." He stepped up and added his own strength to pushing the door up.

"Bilbo." Thorin gestured with his head to the two-foot opening they'd created. "Take a look inside."

"Okay." He reminded himself to stop staring at the defined muscles in his arms and moved towards the door. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the small concrete ledge below the door. The interior was dark, and even the sunlight coming through didn't illuminate much. "I can't see anything. I'm gonna crawl inside."

"Be careful."

Bilbo lifted himself up onto the ledge, using the door to keep his balance, and ducked inside. He squinted and waited for his eyes to adjust. There was a set of double doors to the left, and faint light was shining through. He scanned the rest of the room, taking in the shelves filled with packages, a machine used for lifting heavy objects, a pair of shoes shuffling towards him—

The walker fell onto him with a growl, one cold hand wrapping around his arm. Bilbo yelled and pressed a hand against its head before it could sink its teeth into his flesh. He tried desperately to pull away so he could reach for his knife, but its grip was too tight.

Another pair of hands wrapped around his ankles and pulled him back outside. The garage door slammed shut, and a moment later he hit the ground with a wince, the walker still clinging to him. It tried again to bite him, but Nori's foot slammed into the side of its head, finally forcing it off of him. Nori leapt over him, stomping on the walker's skull until it was nothing but a mess of blood.

Thorin knelt down next to him, gripping his upper arms. "Are you alright? Are you bit?"

"I'm fine," Bilbo gasped. His heart was thundering in his chest, and it took a minute for him to catch his breath. "I-I'm fine."

For a moment, Thorin looked as if he wanted to pull him closer, but he released his arms and sat back on one heel, surveying the carnage.

The cloying smell of blood hit his nose, and as Bilbo looked around, he realized only half the walker had followed him outside. The garage door must have slammed down onto it and cut it in half. A thick trail of sticky blood was dripping down the concrete, and Bilbo noticed with a grimace that there were splotches of dark red on his pants.

"This one looks pretty fresh, too." Nori nudged the walker's arm, indicating the lack of decay on the skin.

"There probably isn't anyone inside." Glóin brushed her hands off. "Living, that is. Can't think of a reason why anyone would want to keep walkers in their backroom." They all tensed as the metal rattled, and the growls of a walker were audible on the other side.

"Unless it was meant as a trap." Thorin stood. "And they would have heard us by now."

"So much for being light on my feet," Bilbo grumbled. He stood up as well and took a step away from the walker.

"What now?" Glóin turned to Thorin. "We wait for whoever's inside to attack?"

Thorin looked at the closed garage door for a long while. There were deep shadows under his eyes, and Bilbo didn't miss the slight tremor in the hand resting on his gun. But beneath it all was that steely determination that had gotten them this far, even as tension tightened on his brow.

"No. We wait any longer, we'll be too weak to defend ourselves." He took a step forward. "We go in through the back door, and we take this place."

Nori and Glóin exchanged a glance, then nodded. Bilbo drew his own gun and let out a shaky sigh. This was Thorin's call, and he knew it was the right one. He only hoped they wouldn't find more than the dead inside.

"I'll go first, then." Nori drew his knife and readied himself as Glóin and Thorin pushed the door open again. Bilbo went to help them, avoiding the blood still slicking the concrete ledge.

The walker on the other side let out a snarl and knelt down to try and crawl through the opening. Nori put his knife through its skull and shimmied through the narrow opening. They hear the _click _of his flashlight turning on, and a moment later, he called, "It's clear."

"Glóin, you go," Thorin said, gritting his teeth as he strained to keep the door up.

Once Nori had a grip on it from the inside, Glóin let go and crawled inside as well.

"Bilbo. Get in there and keep a lookout."

"Alright." He hoisted himself through the gap and picked up Nori's flashlight from where it was lying on the ground. As Nori and Glóin held the door so Thorin could get through, he scanned the dim interior of the backroom. Nothing moved, though he did tense up whenever the light bounced off the shiny surface of plastic wrap or a piece of metal. In the dark, they looked too much like glinting eyes.

Once everyone was inside, they lowered the door as quietly as they could and looked around. The backroom remained eerily silent.

"We move through together," Thorin said lowly. "Stay alert."

They continued around the perimeter, past cardboard boxes and metal racks. Those supplies alone could have fed them for weeks. Bilbo caught sight of a half-eaten package of cookies lying on one of the boxes—further evidence that people had lived here recently. He couldn't help but worry that whatever had killed the store's previous inhabitants would threaten their group as well.

The backroom, at least, was empty. They ended up back where they'd started and headed for the double doors leading to the rest of the store. Thorin pushed one open with the barrel of his gun and led the way through.

"Holy _shit_," Nori whispered.

Bilbo was the last to go through, and his eyes widened as he looked around. Even if the place hadn't been illuminated by a number of skylights in the ceiling, it would have been clear that the place hadn't been raided like the others they'd seen. The shelves were full—of food, water, appliances, office supplies. There were racks of clothing along one wall and a display of patio furniture along another.

If someone had turned the lights on, the place would have looked...normal.

"Let's stay focused," Thorin said, and they all shook themselves from their awe. If they wanted this place for their group, they would have to earn it. "We'll split up. Glóin and I will take this half."

The two of them went to search the clothing section while Bilbo and Nori headed for the food. The tall metal shelves stretched more than thirty feet high, and made the cavernous space feel more narrow and cramped.

"We could feed ourselves for months, here," Bilbo whispered, letting Nori take the lead.

"Years, if we ration it right." Nori checked both sides as they reached an intersection, then motioned for him to continue. "I'm guessing those assholes outside had a similar idea."

"What do you think happened to them?" he asked, bracing himself for another one of Nori's crazy theories.

"They probably killed each other. Most of them died by knife wounds, bullet wounds. Maybe they got sick of each other, wanted most of the supplies for themselves."

Bilbo let out a small hum. That sounded reasonable, though he had no fear that something like that would happen to their group. They were too close for something like that, whatever disagreements they had in between.

Something moved in his periphery, up above, but when he shined his flashlight up at the higher levels of the shelves, he couldn't see anything.

"Who are you looking for up there?" Nori asked. "Spider-Man?"

He let out a small grumble and lowered his flashlight. "It was probably nothing."

They continued on, occasionally spotting the glare of Glóin's flashlight on the other side of the store.

While Nori was checking the next aisle, Bilbo paused next to a ripped open box of packaged chips. The plastic bags were spilled out of the hole like a gutted animal, but the sight only made his mouth water. Surely no one would mind if he took a quick bite...

Behind him, a low _thud_ sounded, like someone had fallen down. Bilbo turned around in time to see a pair of watery eyes glaring right behind him, just before a fist cracked across his face. His gun clattered from his hand before he could even raise it.

"Shit!" Nori shouted.

Eyes watering, Bilbo tried to stand up, but a bony arm wrapped around his neck, and he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.

"Stay back!" cried the person holding him, the reedy voice sounding just behind his ear. "Just stay, stay back!"

Nori was standing a few feet away, his gun aimed at the two of them. "Steady, now."

Bilbo swallowed hard as the man's arm tightened around his neck. "They're all dead," the man said, breathing hard. "Dead and gone. I thought I was alone in here."

"We were just looking around." Nori shifted his weight as if he wanted to move closer. "Didn't know anyone was inside. Alive, that is. Now, you mind letting go of my friend?"

The man stepped back, dragging Bilbo with him. "Y-You'll shoot me. I know you. I know what you're like."

His heart pounding, Bilbo glanced towards the other side of the store. He couldn't see Glóin's light, and hoped the two of them had heard something and were coming to help, though he didn't know what they'd be able to do.

"I won't shoot." Nori reluctantly lowered his gun to the ground and held out his hands in surrender. "Just calm down."

The man let out a rasping cough, and Bilbo winced as some flecks of spit landed on his ear. He could feel him shaking—he was afraid, and had every right to be. After what had happened to the world, maybe the most sane thing to do was go insane.

"Listen," Bilbo said, speaking softly and trying to control the tremor in his voice. "We don't want to hurt you—"

"Wrong!" He tensed, jostling him and pressing the gun into his temple. "They all wanted to. They...They tried to _slice_ me open, but I didn't let them, no, I got away. And now they're all dead."

There was genuine fear in his voice, and Bilbo felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. "Look, I know you have no reason to believe us, but we don't just go around killing random people." He sent a meaningful glance at Nori. _I got this_. "You don't need me. You let me go, and you'll be fine."

The man was silent for a long while before he said, "You're lying."

Bilbo took a deep breath. "I don't want to die. And I know you don't want to kill me. If you want to leave this place, if you want to stay here, w-we'll let you. You don't need to worry. Right, Nori?"

"Right." Nori nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the gun in the man's hand.

"You'd let me...stay here?" A fragile ray of hope entered the man's voice.

That was a lie. Thorin would never allow it. But he had a gun to his head, so Bilbo hummed an affirmation.

That seemed to be enough. The gun disappeared from his temple, and the arm slid from around his neck. Slowly, Bilbo turned around to get a good look at this attacker.

The man was surprisingly skinny for someone living in a place with so much food. There were yellow sweat stains on his shirt and dried blood underneath his fingernails. He looked at Bilbo with huge, watery blue eyes and for a moment he began to think. Perhaps they could spare the man, give him some rations and send him on his way.

"Bilbo," Nori hissed, likely wanting him to stand back.

But he could only stand there as the man continued to stare at him. The pistol was still held loosely in his hand, but he didn't seem to even notice it.

A gunshot cracked across the aisle, and the man was thrown to the side as red bloomed on the side of his head.

Thorin advanced from the end of the aisle, his gun still poised to fire, with Glóin right behind him. "How many more are there?"

Bilbo glanced down at the growing pool of blood on the floor. The man's limbs were in a disarray, like a doll someone had tossed to the side. "He was the only one," he said, his voice sounding hollow and distant to his own ears. He took a deep breath and tried to center himself. He couldn't shut down like he had on the rooftop. "A-At least, he made it sound like it."

"I dunno." Nori darted over to pick up his gun. "He sounded kinda crazy to me. I say we finish our sweep."

"Let's try to watch each other's backs, then." Thorin motioned for them to continue, then glanced at Bilbo. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." He didn't feel like it, but he could hold himself together enough to pretend. He'd been the only one to get attacked (_twice_) during this little mission_,_ and the last thing he needed was to see that disapproving, dismissive glance of Thorin's.

They started forward again, and Nori ushered Bilbo towards the center of the group. "That was some smooth talking, back there."

"Thanks," he mumbled, and forced himself not to look back and the man's bleeding body.

Those eyes, however, glimmered in his vision every time he blinked.

* * *

"Then we turn this knob here, see?"

"No, no, the instructions say we don't do that yet!"

Bilbo shifted his weight with a frown. "I really hope they don't burn this place down."

"Eh, even if they do, I'm not moving," Bifur said with his eyes closed. He was sitting in a black recliner that seemed to be slowly devouring him, one of two that he and Bofur had found somewhere within the store. He turned the handle to prop his feet up and let out a groan of satisfaction.

"Comfy?" Bilbo asked with a slight smile. He turned back to where Nori and Balin were trying to set up a propane grill to heat up some food, though everyone had already eaten their fill in chips and crackers and any other readily accessible food they could find. Kíli walked past, triumphantly holding a worryingly large can of chocolate pudding. Bilbo decided he would leave that to Dís and Víli.

The rest of the store had been clear, and once they'd summoned the rest of the group, Thorin had put most of them to work securing all the exits with makeshift barriers to make sure no one, walkers or otherwise, could get in.

More permanent security measures could wait. They'd all gathered in one section of the store, dragging in various pieces of furniture and food and eating their fill for the first time in weeks. They'd found some battery-powered lanterns to light their little area as well.

A cheer went up as Nori and Balin finally succeeded in turning on the grill. Fíli began dancing around, clicking a pair of metal tongs he'd found somewhere.

Bifur chuckled and stretched. "This reminds me of the old days. Bofur, Bombur and I would put our chairs outside, put the game on and grill some hot dogs."

"That sounds really nice." Bilbo smiled. Something like that had seemed so far away for so long. But looking around at them now, he was beginning to feel that that old life—that happy, domestic, _safe_ life—was in their grasp again. The thought brought a strange ache to his chest.

They'd all made it this far. And they were incredibly lucky not to have lost anyone along the way...although looking around now, he realized someone was missing.

He did a headcount and frowned. "Where's Thorin?"

"Thought I saw him head up to the roof." Bifur chuckled. "He's probably on watch right now."

"And knowing him, he probably hasn't had much to eat, if anything," Bilbo grumbled, shaking his head. "I'll be back."

He walked over to the small pile of food they'd collected from various parts of the store and gathered up a jar of peanut butter, a box of crackers, and a bottle of water. Evidently Thorin was taking his role as the protector of the group a little too seriously—though Bilbo imagined he had probably been prone to overworking himself even before. It probably would have been easy for him to lose track of time, working late into the night with no one to call him to bed…

Bilbo shook away that train of thought before he could get carried away and pushed open the door to the backroom. It took a few minutes of searching, but he eventually found the stairs to the roof and began climbing up.

Thorin was standing at the edge of the roof above the front door, rifle in hand. He turned briefly at the sound of Bilbo's footsteps, then turned back to the empty parking lot below. They'd all lost weight in the past couple of weeks, but even now Thorin cut an imposing figure above the empty expanse.

"You could take tonight off, you know," Bilbo said, coming to a stop next to him.

"Someone has to keep watch." Thorin turned again to give a lingering glance at the food in his arms. "It only takes a second for something to go wrong. If a walker got in, or someone decided to—"

"Alright, I get it." Bilbo held out the crackers. "Let's trade, then. I'll keep watch. You need to eat."

Thorin hesitated for only a second before holding out the rifle and swapping it for the food. Bilbo took up his position, checking the safety switch, while Thorin sat against the low wall surrounding the edge of the roof and dug in.

The next few minutes passed in silence, except for the quiet sounds of Thorin eating. Bilbo glanced at the empty plastic wrappers gathering on the floor and wondered if he should have brought more food. Though they did have more than plenty downstairs, and wouldn't be running out anytime soon.

A movement down the street caught his eye. Bilbo frowned and raised the rifle slightly, but it was only a walker. After a few moments, it ambled out of sight.

Now that he was standing with a gun in his hand, he could understand Thorin's concern. As much as he would have liked to be celebrating downstairs, the truth was that they couldn't let their guard down just yet. The motel had been taken from them in a matter of minutes, and being forced out of this place would be an even greater loss.

"Thank you."

Bilbo glanced over as Thorin pushed himself to his feet. "Of course. I wasn't about to let you starve to death."

That comment earned a slight chuckle. Thorin reached out to take the rifle back, but when Bilbo kept his grip, he let his hands fall to his sides. "How is everyone else?"

"Good. Relieved, I think." He sighed. "We really lucked out, finding this place."

Thorin grunteed in agreement and glanced around. A few crumbs were stuck in his beard, and Bilbo resisted the urge to brush them away. There had been a shortage of razors on the road, and it had grown way past its usual close-cropped look. It made him look a little wild, but still unfairly handsome, and Bilbo had to remind himself that he was supposed to be watching the parking lot.

"We'll still have to have multiple people on watch with this large of an area," Thorin said. "We could probably get three, four people to cover each entrance. Might be able to build some small shelters for cover."

Bilbo smiled at the mental image of the store decorated with guard towers like some sort of medieval castle. "We could get some planters up here, too. Plant some seeds next spring and get some fresh fruits and vegetables."

"We can make this work," Thorin said. It was a statement, not a question, but he still looked at Bilbo as if searching for some sort of confirmation.

"Yes." He looked up at him. "I think we can."

**And then they had no more problems, the end.**

**Just kidding, we're only like halfway through the story at this point. ;) And this place is way too good to be a permanent reward for our heroes. Take that how you will...**

**I don't know if non-Americans have wholesale/warehouse stores or know what they are. I think I saw one outside Madrid but I couldn't go in because I didn't have a membership. Anyway, I based this one off of Costco since that's what I'm most familiar with, and I hope it makes sense!**

**Also! I keep forgetting to mention this but la Dictateuse drew some amazing fan art for this fic, which you can find at sodasacd on tumblr. That stuff is amazing and really made my day.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

When Thorin's shift on watch ended, he found Ori waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. He was holding his instant camera, his near-constant companion now that his sketchbook had been all but discarded. He waited until Thorin had finished his descent and cleared his throat.

"Um, would you mind if I took your picture?"

Thorin blinked at the request. He'd seen Ori take pictures of various plants, the view from the roof, and some members of the group, but he wasn't sure why he would want one of him specifically.

Ori looked down, tapping the camera with one thumb. "I'm trying to get one of everyone in the group. That way, we'll all have something to remember each other by. In case...you know."

Thorin nodded. It was a bittersweet sentiment—he didn't want to dwell on the possibility that one of them would die, but he supposed it would they would all be grateful for the pictures if the time came. "Go ahead, then."

He shifted his weight, unsure if he was supposed to pose or smile, but Ori only said, "Hold still." The camera flashed, though there was enough light coming through the door to the roof to illuminate the area. He pulled out the photo and shook it a few times. "I'm going to give this one to Dís, if you don't mind."

"Sure." He was sure she would appreciate it, though she'd probably find a way to tease him about it too.

"I also want to talk to you about something." Ori fell into stride next to him as Thorin began walking towards the front of the store. "I-I want to start helping out more. I'm better now, I don't need to be sitting around all the time."

"You don't need to worry about that. We have more than enough people to get everything done."

They'd been living in the store for a month, and for the first time in a while they could truly relax. They didn't need to worry about finding food or planning their route to the next town. Besides guard shifts and the occasional chore, they could spend most of their time relaxing and enjoying each other's company.

"Well, I still want to do something. Everyone seems to think I'm practically useless. Bofur and Bombur won't let me near their construction projects, no one will let me touch the laundry, and well, I wasn't that good of a cook even when I had both my hands."

Thorin sighed and stopped, turning to face him. "Ori, no one thinks you're useless. If no one wants you working, there's plenty of other things to do. You should enjoy it."

Ori drew himself up to his full height, the set of his jaw bringing out his resemblance to his oldest brother. "Put me on watch, then. I only need one hand to fire a gun."

He shifted his weight, considering. That was true, and it wouldn't hurt to have one more person on the rotation. He couldn't see any real reason not to, except that Dori would probably try and argue with him about it. "You'll need practice firing with your nondominant hand, though."

His gaze brightened somewhat. "I have time."

"Let's head out now." Thorin began walking again, leading the way out of the backroom. "We'll drive a few miles out, get some practice in before the sun goes down."

They walked over towards their makeshift camp. A few of the shelves had been cleared out, and they'd dragged mattresses under them and strung up sheets to provide a semblance of privacy. Next to their sleeping area, they'd gathered a mismatch of couches and a dining table. The place was starting to look a little more like home.

"Glóin," Thorin called. "You get that truck working?"

"Yeah, it's parked out front." She fished the keys from her pocket and tossed them to him. "Going somewhere?"

"Just taking Ori for some target practice. We shouldn't be gone long."

Fíli dropped the book he'd been reading and stood up. "Can I come?"

Dís didn't even look up from cleaning her own gun. "Fíli, we've discussed this. You're staying here."

"Why not let him go?" Víli said, making her pause. "It's not like he's going to be carrying, but it doesn't hurt for him to learn. God forbid he's in a situation where he needs to use one."

"He's twelve years old."

"I'll be thirteen soon," Fíli offered, as if that was a point they'd all overlooked.

"He'll be fine, Dís," Thorin said. "I'll teach him how to use a gun safely. Víli's right—he might need it one day." He thought back with a slight chill to the night when Kíli had been left behind at the motel. Despite their best efforts, they couldn't guarantee the boys' safety.

"Why don't I come, too?" Bofur brushed off the wood carving he'd been working on and stood up. "Can't hurt to have another pair of eyes."

Dís finally sighed and said, "Alright. Just...Just be careful. Please."

Dori jumped up. "I should go as well. You'll need more than one person on lookout."

"Well, that's all we'll be able to fit in the truck. Let's go." Thorin led the other four outside after gathering their weapons. He started the car while Bofur climbed into the passenger seat, and Dori and Ori sat on either side of Fíli in the back.

They hadn't been on any runs since they'd found the store, but Thorin had still taken a day to walk around the surrounding area, just to see if there was anything dangerous nearby. He hadn't found much—the town seemed to have been abandoned early on.

He found a park about ten minutes away and pulled into the gravel parking lot. The open space would give them plenty of room to practice, and there would be less of a risk of walkers sneaking up on them.

They found a few archery targets inside the building nearby, probably in storage for the year's summer camp, and Thorin decided they would work well enough. He and Dori set them up on the field, then walked across to where Bofur, Ori and Fíli were standing.

Autumn was in full swing, and red and orange leaves were already scattered across the grass. Thorin couldn't help but think their timing in finding the warehouse was perfect—they'd found shelter just as the weather was starting to get cold.

"Alright." Thorin took out his gun, checked the magazine and the safety, then handed it to Ori. "Make sure you keep it steady."

Ori took the gun with his left hand and took a moment to adjust his grip, obviously not used to the position. He raised it towards one of the targets and fired.

They all waited as the gunshot echoed across the field. Bofur brought up one hand to shield his eyes. "I don't think that one hit."

"It's going to take a while to get used to shooting with your other hand. Keep at it." Thorin nodded to Dori to keep an eye on his brother, then turned to Fíli.

Fíli's hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out and take the gun, but he kept still as Thorin knelt down and held it out.

"This is the safety switch. When it's like this," he pushed it, "the gun won't fire. But even if it is on, you _never_, under any circumstances, point it at one of us. Understand?"

Fíli nodded.

"Alright." Thorin flipped the safety back off and held out the gun. "Aim it at the target."

He accepted it, seemingly surprised by the weight, and held it out. "Do I just pull the trigger?"

"Hold your arms out farther. It's going to kick, so brace yourself." Thorin stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. "Go ahead."

The gunshot cracked across the field, and Thorin felt Fíli's shoulder jerk beneath his hand. Fíli looked down at the gun and blinked a few times. "Okay."

He sounded as if he'd been expecting more, which was something of a relief. The point wasn't to get any sort of gratification from firing a gun, and he hoped Fíli would have a better understanding of the weapon after today.

Ori had stopped firing, and was struggling to reload with one hand. Dori looked as if he was on the verge of intervening, but Thorin stopped him with a look.

"We'll get you a holster so you can reload with one hand." He held the gun steady so Ori could slide the new magazine in. "How's it going so far?"

"Not too bad. I think I'm getting the hang of it."

Thorin hummed in approval. Ori hardly looked the part, but he'd never been a bad shot. He turned back to Fíli, who had stopped firing after only three bullets.

He gave an exaggerated shrug. "My shoulders hurt."

"You'll probably be a little sore tomorrow. Once you build up some muscle, it'll be easier."

Fíli looked up at him with a considering expression. "Would you let me have a knife?"

His eyebrows rose. "Why would you want a knife?"

"Well, it's quieter, right? That's what you guys use."

Thorin didn't like the idea of Fíli getting close to a walker to the point where he would have to use a knife. But Víli had been right—one day he might need it. "We'll talk to your mom when we get back."

"Hey." Ori's voice made them both turn. He had lowered his gun and was staring towards the trees to their right. "Did you guys see that?"

"See what?" Thorin asked, scanning the area.

"I thought I saw someone moving over there."

Bofur straightened. "Walkers?"

"Maybe." It was possible they'd been attracted by the gunshots. He stepped forward and nodded to Dori. "Stay with them. Bofur, you're with me."

They spent a few minutes combing the woods, though there was no sign of walkers or otherwise. Thorin frowned to himself—if it had been a walker, then it wouldn't have gone far. Or perhaps Ori had just been seeing things.

His unease remained with him for the rest of the day, even after they'd gotten back into the truck and driven back to the store. If there was someone out there, they would have no way of knowing.

And he had learned long before before the world had ended that the living could be far more dangerous than the dead.

* * *

Bilbo was in an excellent mood.

He'd found a beach chair somewhere, one that could recline horizontally, and dragged it up to the roof. The sun was warm overhead, but a cool breeze had kept him comfortable as he'd sat back to read a book Balin had recommended. At some point he must have dozed off, and now he was lying with his eyes closed and the book resting on his stomach, just listening to the wind ruffle the trees nearby.

It would take some getting used to, but it was nice not to have to worry about walkers for once. Of course, they still had people on watch, but it was relaxing to lie there with his eyes closed and know that nothing was about to attack him.

The scrape of boots against the ground had him cracking one eye open, and he realized with a jolt that Thorin was standing over him.

"Working on your tan?"

"No, just sunning myself," he said, opening both eyes.

"So, tanning."

He snorted a laugh. "Sure, whatever." He'd assumed Thorin had been going to talk to one of the people on watch, but he was just standing there, so he shifted his legs to the side in a silent invitation.

After a half-second of hesitation, Thorin sat, his body perpendicular to Bilbo's. There wasn't enough room on the chair to lie side-by-side without being very close (not that Bilbo would have minded much), but Thorin seemed content to sit upright.

He cleared his throat before he could get carried away with that train of thought. "I heard you took Ori and Fíli for target practice today."

"Mhm. It went well, all things considered."

"Kíli was not happy about being left behind."

"He's seven years old. No one wants him to have a gun. Dís still thinks Fíli is too young, but…" Thorin lowered his gaze, doubt wrinkling his brow.

"You know, he shot me in the face the first time we met."

Thorin turned to face him, eyebrows raising. "What?"

Bilbo smiled, thinking back on how much had happened between then and now. "I don't think I ever told you this story. I came home from a run and I found the two of them digging through my pantry. I didn't have time to do anything before Fíli turned around and shot me with his dart gun…"

He told him the rest of what had happened that day, and Thorin smiled at their antics, though his expression darkened when Bilbo described how they'd run into a walker right after.

"They never told me much about what happened before I found them." Bilbo folded his hands across his stomach. "But if Fíli managed to keep himself and his brother alive for that long, then maybe he deserves more credit than we've been giving him."

"Not everyone sees it that way." Thorin turned his gaze to one of the skylights. "Dís still blames herself for the fact that they were left alone. People began pulling their kids from school when the outbreak first started, but she still let them go. Didn't want them to miss classes. And then it all just went to shit so fast, almost overnight. She wants desperately for things to go back to the way they were before, to...make up for lost time, I guess."

"Well, maybe it doesn't have to be one or the other. We teach them how to survive, but make something more out of it in the meantime." He gestured to the expanse of the roof. "Like we're doing right now."

"Yeah." Thorin was looking at him, considering, and a small smile lit up his face.

Heat was beginning to creep up his neck, and Bilbo shifted so that he was sitting up. He paused as something poked his thigh, and slipped a hand into his pocket. He pulled out a small, shiny rectangle—the mp3 player he'd found on the bridge. "Oh, I forgot I had this."

"Is that yours?"

"No, I just picked it up from a random car. I haven't even seen what kind of music is on it." He pressed one of the buttons, and squinted at the dim screen in the sunlight. "I've never even used one of these before."

Thorin held out a hand, and Bilbo passed the mp3 player to him. He pressed a few buttons, then began scrolling through the list of songs. "Hm. Whoever owned this has good taste."

Bilbo swung his legs over the side so he could sit next to Thorin, and leaned over to take a look. He was scrolling through a number of songs by some band called Mumford & Sons. "I don't think I've ever listened to them before." He was more partial to Sindar folk music, but he had a feeling Thorin would laugh at him if he shared that.

Thorin placed the mp3 player on the chair and stood. "I'll be back."

"O-Okay." Bilbo placed his hands in his lap and watched as Thorin descended the stairs.

While he waited, he picked up the mp3 player and fiddled with it absentmindedly. He supposed he considered Thorin a friend, but he still wasn't sure exactly where he stood with him. They were part of the same family, that was for certain, but that could mean any number of things. He liked him, undoubtedly, but the burden that Thorin carried as their leader, the worries that lingered behind his eyes, made him incredibly distant at times. And then there were the sudden tensions, the disagreements between them that had created a strange uncertainty in their relationship.

His face was open and cheerful, though, as he appeared at the top of the stairs and crossed the roof, tearing open a package as he went. The box was discarded on the floor, and Thorin held a pair of earbuds in one fist.

Bilbo clicked his tongue. "Littering, are we?"

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "Have I broken the law?"

"I might just have to report you to the authorities." He watched with a smile as Thorin sat down, closer than he'd been before, and plugged the cord into the mp3 player. He placed one earbud in and handed the other to Bilbo.

There was something intimate about sitting there under the sun, listening together to the first guitar notes filter through the tiny speakers. It was just the two of them, the world filling with color as the tempo picked up, and Bilbo was happy to find this small moment of joy on the roof of an abandoned warehouse.

**Another filler chapter, mostly. But next chapter I will be introducing a new antagonist that only like one person has mentioned so far but it's gonna be good. And by good I mean very bad for the group. There was a little bit of foreshadowing in this chapter, though some of it won't come into play until much, much later. Any guesses?**

**I find it kind of hilarious that Dis (and by extension, me) has been so protective of Fili in regards to using a weapon when in TWD Carl is about the same age and shooting up all kinds of walkers and people.**

**The music part at the end was inspired by themuse123's lovely TWD series, which heavily features an iPod with all its dramatic and romantic potential. Also, Thorin's favorite band is absolutely Mumford & Sons and you can't convince me otherwise.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"These look to be about even." Bilbo held the two lengths of wood together and looked up at Bofur.

"Yeah, looks like." He straightened and tucked the pencil into his pocket. "We can start cutting the wood, now." He grabbed another piece of wood and set it on the table they were using for their project.

Fíli and Kíli had been asking to have their sleeping area moved to one of the higher shelves, since apparently sleeping a few feet off the ground held some sort of appeal that wasn't available on the floor. Moving a mattress up had been simple enough, but they hadn't had a way to get up easily until Bofur had volunteered to construct a ladder for them. Not having much else to do, Bilbo had happily volunteered to help.

"Hold it steady for me, will you?" Bofur braced one hand against the wood and picked up the saw. The materials had come from a home improvement store not too far away, and Bofur and Bombur had already built four small shelters for watch duty.

Bilbo held the other end of the wood. "Alright, I'm ready."

Bofur began sawing through the length of wood, his movements efficient and steady. The grating noise was rather unpleasant, though, and Bilbo had a jolting flashback to the sound of the knife on Ori's bone. A chill crawled through him, and he tried his best to put the memory out of his head. Ori was alive and well, and they weren't in any danger anymore.

Bofur finished cutting the wood into pieces that would be used for the rungs, and looked up at him. "You okay?"

"Mm. Fine." Bilbo brushed a bit of sawdust off the table. "What do we do next?"

"I'll start cutting notches into the wood, where the rungs will go. Just need you to hold it steady again." They moved the other pieces onto the table and took up their positions. "You know, I had one of those bunk beds when I was in college. Slept on the top. Broke my arm, actually, falling out of it."

Bilbo winced. "Was this the year you had that horrible roommate?"

"Oh, yeah. He was the reason I fell, actually. Little shit was setting off fireworks in the bottom bunk, scared the hell out of me and I rolled right off."

"Oh my god." Bilbo suppressed a snort of laughter. "Is he why you dropped out?"

"Nah, I just wasn't fit for the academic life. You should've seen Bombur, though, when he got his architecture degree. Happiest I've ever seen him. He built a miniature bungalow on his graduation cap."

"I would have loved to see that." Bilbo found himself grinning, and realized Bofur had taken his mind off his memories in an instant.

Bofur glanced over at the box of screws on the table. "Ah, I don't think we'll have enough for the ladder. I'm going to start sanding these, would you mind getting me some more?"

"Sure." Bilbo brushed off his hands again and headed off to the hardware section.

"Two and a half inch, yeah?"

Bilbo gave a thumbs up and turned the corner. He'd gotten familiar with the layout of the store in the time they'd been there, and was pretty sure about where he needed to go.

As he passed the electronics section, he could hear a pair of excited voices coming from one of the aisles. Fíli and Kíli were sifting through a collection of games on the ground, while Thorin and Dwalin stood nearby.

When Kíli caught sight of him, he jumped up and ran over. "Bilbo, look at this! We found the DSs, and some of them still have power, so now me and Fíli can play Mario Kart together!"

Bilbo didn't know what some of those words meant, but Kíli was positively beaming, so he smiled and said, "Well, I'm very happy for you. Maybe sometime you can teach me how to play."

"Yeah!" A wicked grin came over his face. "And then me and Fíli are gonna beat you."

"Right." Bilbo shook his head, the intricate alliances of these video games remaining a mystery to him, and watched Kíli race over to his brother.

"Ah, I think it's my turn on watch," Dwalin said. He nodded to Thorin. "See you later, Oakenshield."

Thorin rolled his eyes as Dwalin walked away. He stepped over the pile of games and made his way over to Bilbo. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah." He started walking again, and Thorin fell into stride next to him. "Oakenshield? I thought your last name was Durin."

"It is."

Once, Thorin's clipped answer would have discouraged him, but now it only ignited his curiosity. "Oakenshield is your...middle name, then."

"No."

"Nickname?"

"Sort of."

"If you tell me about your nickname, I'll tell you about mine."

Thorin shrugged. "Alright, fine. Dwalin and I used to play...online games together. Oakenshield was my, uh, username."

Bilbo blinked. "So it's a video game thing?" That was sort of unexpected, but he guessed Fíli and Kíli must have gotten their love of games from somewhere.

"Yeah." A nostalgic smile appeared on his face. "Back in high school, me, Dwalin, Glóin, Fr—the rest of our friends, we'd spend the night eating chips and playing together."

"That sounds like a lot of fun." He'd rarely seen an expression like that on Thorin's face, and it warmed something in his chest.

"So what about your nickname?"

"Oh. Well, mine has to do with a game as well. I used to play rugby back in high school, and I was pretty good at it. So my team nicknamed me Mad Baggins." He couldn't help a slight chuckle, saying it out loud. "It's been so long since I thought about it."

Thorin looked him up and down, as though trying to picture him in a rugby uniform, and Bilbo felt his cheeks grow hot.

"I never would have guessed it, that I was the athletic one in high school, while you were, uh…" He began to stammer when Thorin raised an eyebrow. "Well, just that there's a bit of a stereotype around people who play those sorts of games, that, um, some people might consider them—"

"Lazy?" Thorin shrugged again, looking unbothered. "Maybe we were. My dad wanted us to do something more with our lives. He was the one who pressured me into joining the military."

"Oh." Bilbo frowned. Thorin had said it so casually, but that seemed an awful thing to do, especially given how the experience had scarred him. His own father had been content with his more bookish tendencies, but more than that, he'd encouraged him to be a kind and giving person, no matter what career path he chose. "Well, I'm sure he would be proud to see you now."

"Hm." Thorin looked away and was silent for a long moment, clearly lost in memory. Eventually his brow cleared and he turned back to Bilbo. "What other things did you do in high school?"

They talked about school and television and museums and football, wandering aimlessly around the store. Eventually they found themselves in the kitchen section and Bilbo broke the conversation to look at one of the packages.

"Oh, I've always wanted one of these!"

"What is it?" Thorin asked, stopping next to him.

"An onion chopper. It drops it directly into a container, see, and it's completely closed so you don't tear up while doing it."

Thorin glanced down at the price listed on the shelf. "It's only 23.99."

"Ah." Bilbo dipped his hands in his pockets. "I don't have that much. I'm broke, actually." Thorin snorted a laugh at that, and Bilbo grinned.

A low knock sounded from the end of the aisle, and they turned to see Bofur rapping on one of the shelves. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was looking for some screws…"

"Shit. I'm sorry, Bofur, I got kind of sidetracked." Heat burned on his cheeks, and he gestured to the onion cutter. "I was looking at, um, this."

"No worries." Bofur was grinning, inexplicably—but then again, it was Bofur. "I'm in no rush."

"I'll come with you to get the screws, now. Um…" He turned to Thorin, feeling as though he owed him an apology as well.

"I won't keep you." The smile had left his face, and he turned and left the aisle without another word.

The heat had spread to his ears as he joined Bofur in walking to the hardware section. "Sorry about that. I just got distracted."

"I'm sure you did," Bofur said, waggling his eyebrows. He looked as if he found the whole thing hilarious, and Bilbo had no idea why.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing." He stretched and adjusted his hat, his mustache still twitching. "Absolutely nothing."

* * *

Thorin shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked away, trying to ignore the jealousy needling at his heart. It was unreasonable for him to feel this way. Bilbo could spend his time however he liked, and he had no right to judge him.

But the past several weeks had slowly shifted his perspective. As the group became safer, more comfortable, it left him with less things to worry about, and therefore less to distract him from...other matters.

_Find something that makes you happy_, Dís had said, and it was getting more difficult to put that off.

He sighed and rounded the corner, making his way towards the backroom. Maybe he'd go up and see how the team on watch was doing. It was getting colder, and sitting on the roof was getting less pleasant.

Something darted past his feet.

Thorin swore, already reaching for his gun, but the thing was gone as soon as it had come. He had only a second to look for it before Fíli and Kíli barreled down the aisle, nearly knocking into him.

"Hey," he said, and when they didn't stop, barked, "Hey!" When they turned around, he asked, "What the hell was that?" Dís would have smacked him upside the head for swearing in front of them, but his nerves were on high alert.

"A cat!" Kíli said, bouncing on his toes as though revving up to start chasing it again.

"We were trying to catch it," Fíli said, searching his face as though trying to ascertain if they were in trouble or not.

Thorin took his hand off his gun and wondered how the hell a cat had managed to slip inside.

"Come on, Uncle Thorin," Kíli said, eyes wide. "You can help us catch it."

He shifted, considering. He'd never been great at resisting Kíli's puppy dog eyes, a trait he had definitely inherited from his mother. "Alright, fine."

Kíli took off again, Fíli right on his heels, while Thorin followed at a more sedate pace.

"Come on, kitty! Where are you?" Kíli squatted down to check under a shelf, then took off to search the next one.

Fíli slowed down so he could keep pace with Thorin. "Do you think we can lure it out with some cat food?"

"I wouldn't recommend it." Most of it had probably expired by now, along with a large amount of regular food in the store. They'd had to get rid of most of the refrigerated products and other things that had gone bad, and though none of them liked throwing out food en masse, keeping it would only increase the chances of one of them getting sick.

"Up there!" Kíli was jumping up and down, pointing to one of the higher shelves. Fíli and Thorin joined him and found a brown tabby peering down at them, its tail swishing back and forth.

The boys both looked to him, and Thorin realized he was the only one tall enough to reach the cat. Bracing himself, he stepped forward and reached up. "Here, kitty…"

The cat hissed and swiped at him. Thorin cursed and drew back his hand, narrowly missing his wrist being clawed open.

"He's probably just scared," Fíli said. "Been out there all by himself. It's cold, too."

Kíli crossed his arms. "How do you know it's a boy?"

Thorin sighed and stepped back. "Well, I'm not touching that thing. It'll probably find its way out on its own."

"But I wanted to keep it as a pet!" Kíli tugged on the hem of his shirt. "Please, Uncle Thorin, can we keep it?"

He suppressed a groan. With seventeen people in the group and another on the way, he didn't need an animal to keep track of. That being said, having a cat around would help prevent any mice or the like from getting into their food. Nori had worked in a pet store before—maybe he would know how to handle this.

Quick footsteps sounded close by, and a moment later, Dís rounded the corner, her rifle still dangling from her shoulder. "Thorin, we have a problem."

"Where?" he asked, already reaching for his gun.

"Another group. They're stopped just outside the front door. Boys, come here."

Fíli shot him a worried glance as he and Kíli walked towards her. "Are we in danger?"

Thorin stopped himself before he could utter any false reassurance. Being lied to wouldn't do him any good, not with the way things were now. "I'll look into it. Stay with your mom."

He made his way towards the front door, Dwalin and Balin joining him along the way. Together, they moved aside the metal racks barricading the door and walked through.

The light outside was nearly blinding—even with the skylights, the interior of the store was rather dim. Thorin kept his hand on his gun, blinking rapidly, and took in the sight just beyond the wooden structures.

The other group was smaller than theirs—there were only two pickup trucks, parked about twenty feet from the entrance. A large white dog was sitting in the backseat, barking almost incessantly.

Thorin tensed as one of the men began to move forward, and moved up as well, with Dwalin and Balin right behind him. The low scrape of the door opening told him more of his group was stepping outside, but he didn't turn around.

"We come in peace," said the man in front, holding his hands at shoulder level. He had a scraggly mustache and slouched shoulders, and Thorin couldn't immediately tell he wasn't the true leader of the group, even if he was speaking for them.

What really caught his attention was the pale man standing half-out of the truck, one forearm resting on the top of the door. He was ex-military as well—it stood out in the scars peeking from his stained shirt and the easy way his assault rifle was slung over his shoulder. But what really unnerved Thorin was his casual, almost lazy posture coupled with the cold glint in his eyes.

"Dwalin," he muttered, turning his head to the side slightly.

"On it," he said, and turned to walk back inside. He'd have better aim from the roof, and they needed an experienced marksman up there. He hoped the rest of the people on watch hadn't left their posts.

"That's a big building, there" the weaselly man said, his eyes following Dwalin for a moment before switching back to him. "You have a lot of people inside? Or is it just this lot?"

"It doesn't matter." Thorin took another step forward. He would rather draw their fire than have one of his own get hurt. "You wouldn't be able to take all of us."

The man let out a stuttering laugh and shook his head. "Now, now, that's not what we're after. Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot." He put a hand on his chest. "My name is Alfrid." He swung the other hand back towards his group. "And this is...everyone else."

Thorin only stared, determined not to give them even the courtesy of an introduction.

Alfrid cleared his throat. "Well, anyway, we were hoping to come to an agreement of sorts. A trade, if you will." He spread his hands. "We need food, shelter. And you look like you could use some extra protection."

"Do we?" Thorin's voice slid into a growl.

"Well, it never hurts to have a few extra guns. It's been rough out here, just us with not enough food to go around." He stared at Thorin. "The way things are now, there's always the chance something could go wrong."

The man was being ridiculously transparent about his intentions. If Thorin was stupid enough to let them inside, they'd kill everyone in the middle of the night. His main concern was that they'd try and take the place by force once he turned them away.

"Listen to me." He took another step forward. Balin hissed a barely-audible warning behind him, but he ignored it. "I know what you want. I know how you think you're going to get it. And you should know that you _will_ lose this fight."

The pale man suddenly glanced up, and his eyes narrowed as they landed on the roof. Dwalin had his back, and Thorin was able to relax just a fraction.

He turned back to the spokesman of the group and spoke lowly. "I suggest you turn around now and get back in your truck, or I'll kill you myself."

The man stared at him for a long while, searching his face for a bluff. The pale man suddenly stepped inside the truck and slammed the door shut, causing him to jump. He gathered himself and looked at Thorin with a stiff, uneasy smile. "Best of luck to you, then."

Thorin watched him wordlessly as he backed up towards the truck and climbed inside. The pale man watched him through the windshield, the glint in his eyes sending an involuntary chill down his spine. He revved the engine loudly, and the two trucks pulled out of the parking lot. He waited there a long while after they were out of sight, then turned back to the front doors.

Everyone was there, save Dís, the boys, Brana, Dwalin, and the three others that had been on watch. They were standing in a tense knot, clearly shaken by what had just happened, but also looking to him for guidance.

Now that the adrenaline of the situation had faded away, frustration and anger began to seep in. They'd grown complacent in their relative luxury. Even he had begun to forget the dangers that the walkers—and more importantly, other people—posed to the group.

"We double the watch from now on," he said as he walked past. "And we barricade the doors. Everyone has a walkie from now on. If anything comes within a hundred feet of the building, I want to know about it."

**Thorin channeling Rick a little bit in that last scene. Slightly off topic but this reminds me of the time Andrew Lincoln saved Richard Armitage from falling out of a helicopter while they were filming Strike Back.**

**And no, the cat is not going to be the group pet. I have enough damn characters to juggle as is and a baby on the way besides.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

A blast of freezing air hit Thorin as soon as he opened the door to the roof, but he'd already braced himself for it. He shrugged off the cold and stepped outside, treading across the scuff marks already laid in the thin layer of snow.

He made his usual rounds, checking on Glóin at the south corner, Bofur at the west wall, Óin in the north, and finally Ori at the last shelter.

It was bitter work, standing in the cold for hours on end, but Thorin made few exceptions for guard duty. It had been weeks since they'd seen any sign of the other group, but he hadn't forgotten about them—not by a long shot. In this kind of weather, people tended to get desperate, and he'd rather his group be cold for a few hours than dead.

Ori glanced at him briefly as he approached, then turned back to the still forest below, his gun ready in the holster at his hip.

"Everything alright?"

He hummed in the affirmative. "Been quiet so far."

It had been every day for weeks, now. Even the walkers had thinned out, probably slowed by the cold. Some of his darker thoughts had strayed to the possibility of the group growing resentful of his caution, that they might perceive it as paranoia. But no one had said anything so far, and he tried not to let those thoughts consume him.

Footsteps from behind made him turn, but it was only Dori, coming to relieve Ori from his shift. He always arrived a little early. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, with a steaming mug of tea in one hand and his knitting supplies in the other.

"Why don't you go get warmed up, then," Dori said, handing the tea to Ori.

"Thanks." He accepted the mug, cradling it between both hands.

"How's the holster working for you?" Thorin asked.

"Good." Ori nodded. "I'm getting used to holding it with my other hand."

Dori patted him on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you," he said, and went to take his place.

Ori smiled at that, his cheeks pink with more than just the cold, and headed back inside.

Thorin raised an eyebrow as Dori began to set up his knitting things. He'd made a sweater for almost everyone in the group, now that the appropriate weather had arrived, and even a tiny outfit for Brana's baby. He'd thought, wrongly, that it would have ended there, but apparently everyone needed mittens too, and socks, and of course everyone had to have multiple pairs…

"It helps pass the time," Dori said when he caught him looking.

"I've already said I don't want any distractions when people are on watch." He'd had to have a similar discussion with Glóin after Brana had offered to sit with her on watch to help "warm her up."

"I don't need to use my eyes," he said, needles already clacking even as he scanned the pale landscape below. "It's practically second nature at this point."

Thorin didn't doubt that. "Look, it only takes one second for something to go wrong."

"I understand that. But I don't think we'll have to worry too much, at least for the next day or two." He nodded to the dark clouds on the horizon. By the afternoon it would likely start snowing. "We'll be snowed in, but everyone will also be snowed out."

"We'll see." He frowned as another blast of cold air swept over the roof. Perhaps he was being hard on the group, but he was only trying to keep them all alive. "Just stay alert, alright?"

"Of course." Dori kept his eyes on the trees, and Thorin, still frowning, turned to head back inside.

* * *

"Alright," Bifur said, shrugging on his coat. "I'm off to check the traps."

Bilbo glanced over at the whiteboard where they'd organized everyone's collective chores for the week. Under the neat grid that Balin had drawn, Dori had written, "_Nori—STOP leaving snowballs on my pillow_," but someone (presumably Nori) had erased part of the message, so it now read: "_Nori—STOP leaving balls on my pi_."

"It's my turn for water duty. I'll come with you." Bilbo stood up and went to grab his own coat. If there was one benefit to snow, it was that it was easier to gather than water from the stream nearby. They collected enough to heat up for bathing, which allowed them to save the bottled water for drinking.

As he was bundling up on his way to the front door, Fíli sidled up and fell into step next to him.

Bilbo eyed the bright red coat tucked under one arm. "Going somewhere?"

"Can I come help you?" Fíli asked, glancing up at him with a pleading gaze that was usually found on his brother's face.

"Well, I don't see why not. Is everything alright?"

His head dropped slightly. "Kíli's mad at me."

"What? Why?"

Fíli only shrugged. "He won't talk to me."

"Maybe later I can help the two of you resolve this." He patted him on the shoulder. "But I think the both of us need some fresh air in the meantime."

The winter storm that had passed earlier that week had left heavy snows as far as they could see. But it had gone mostly unnoticed by the group, warm and well-stocked as they were inside the store. Any movement outside was clearly marked in the snow, and though there were a few shuffling prints left by walkers, things had been quiet and untouched for the most part. It had left all of them restful and restless at the same time.

Bifur was waiting at the door when they approached. He smiled as Fíli zipped up his jacket. "Coming to catch some squirrels?"

His eyes widened. "Can I?"

"I thought you were helping me gather snow." Bilbo reached over to adjust Fíli's scarf so it was covering more of his neck.

"I can do both." He picked up one of the plastic buckets they kept by the door, and Bilbo took the other.

They all winced at the seeping chill waiting on the other side of the door, though the wind wasn't too bad. Most of the snow from the storm had melted, and they were able to walk across the parking lot without making any footprints. Bifur turned to wave at Ori, who was on watch just above.

They headed into the woods, where Glóin and Bifur had set up a few snares. It was nice to have some fresh meat every once in a while, though Bilbo tried not to think too hard about how they obtained it. They came across a dead rabbit caught in the first trap, and he busied himself with scooping some snow into his bucket.

"This one's got a good bit of meat on it," Bifur said, kneeling down to get the rabbit out. "You feel like jerky tonight?"

Fíli leaned closer and made a noise that could have been "Ooh," or "Ew."

Bilbo winced at the dull thump of the rabbit hitting the bottom of the plastic bag Bifur carried. He stood up and hefted his bucket. "I think I'll just head back, now."

"You sure you'll be alright?"

"I can see the store from here." Bilbo gestured to the gray shape beyond the trees. "And I have my gun. Fíli, are you coming?"

"Um…" He was still gazing at the empty snare, the empty bucket dangling from his fingers.

"Come on." Bifur cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. "I'll show you how to get the next one loose."

"Okay," Fíli said, still looking uncertain.

Bilbo smiled reassuringly. "Come find me when you get back, okay? Then we can go talk to Kíli."

He brightened a little at that, and Bilbo felt comfortable enough to trudge back to the warehouse without him.

He brought the bucket of snow over to the white tub where they kept their water for cleaning and bathing. He grunted as he tried to lift it to the rim and frowned. Usually they had someone stronger do this job—or maybe living in comfort for so long had made him physically weaker. He'd definitely gotten softer around the middle again.

"Here, let me help you with that." Óin came around the corner and set the book under his arm on one of the shelves. Together, they lifted the bucket and dumped the snow inside.

"Thanks," Bilbo said, and stretched his arms. "Only need to do that ten more times." He glanced over at the book Óin had put down. It was one of the medical texts they'd found at a nearby doctor's office. "I seriously can't believe it."

"What's that?"

"You're putting yourself through medical school," he said, "in the middle of the _apocalypse_."

"Can't hurt, can it?" Óin went to retrieve the book. "It's safe to say Dís knows more about pregnancy than I do, but I want to be prepared in case something goes wrong—with Brana or anyone else. God forbid I have to perform another amputation."

Bilbo nodded, sobering up a little. "I mean, it really is amazing that you're doing all this. You saved Ori's life, and I know everyone else feels safer knowing that you would do the same for them. I know it's a lot of responsibility, but I'm very glad you're part of the group."

Óin blinked and nodded, then cleared his throat. "Well, thank you for that. It's nice to know I'm appreciated."

Bofur came into view from around one of the shelves, knocking on it as he went. Apparently that was his thing now. "Have either of you seen Fíli? I found that Lego piece he was looking for." He held up the tiny plastic object. "Slid under one of the shelves."

"I think he's still outside with Bifur. He's showing him how to do the traps."

"Ah, okay. I'll find him later."

"Speaking of outside…" Bilbo picked up his bucket with a grimace. "I'd better get back to work."

"Have fun with that." Óin tucked his book under his arm and walked away with Bofur.

Adjusting his scarf, Bilbo went to go brave the cold again.

* * *

That afternoon found Bilbo elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing the dishes they'd used for that day's lunch. They'd gotten more creative with their meals, given the limited variety in food that was still edible. He still found himself wishing for fresh fruits and vegetables, especially after seeing Nori's Spam and cheese sandwiches with "mystery sauce" that only Glóin had been brave enough to try.

Technically, it was Brana's turn to help wash dishes, but no one would let her so much as get up for a glass of water. She'd complained earlier that one of them would probably volunteer to give birth for her when the time came.

He passed another plate to Dís, who was busy drying them. "I'll be glad when it warms up again. Then all this cold water will actually feel nice."

"Yeah, say that again once summer hits and we're all dying in here with no AC."

Bilbo grimaced slightly. "Or that." The store had a backup generator, but it was too low on fuel to run for long. What little they'd managed to scrounge up, Thorin wanted to save for the vehicle in case of an emergency.

"Mom?" Kíli walked over, a soccer ball balanced between two hands. "Have you seen Fíli?"

"No, did you check the bunk bed?"

"Yeah, but he's not there."

"Go ask Bifur," Bilbo said. "He was probably the last to see him." After Kíli scampered off, he turned to Dís and said, "I guess he got over whatever they were fighting about earlier."

She nodded. "Kíli doesn't stay mad for long. Probably wasn't anything big."

"I do worry, sometimes, that they're the only kids in the group. I mean, they have each other, but…"

"Hopefully that'll change when the baby comes. They'll have someone to entertain, at least." She chuckled. "And Kíli won't be the baby of the family anymore."

"You seem excited about it," Bilbo said, noticing how her face had lit up.

"Well, I love babies," Dís said with a smile. "And it'll be nice not to have to worry about staying up all night or changing diapers. I just get to do the cool aunt stuff."

Bilbo laughed. "It must be nice, to be part of such a close family."

"What about you?" She looked up at him. "You don't talk about your family much."

"Well…" He looked down, focusing on the soapy water clinging to his hands. "I wasn't really close to any of them, especially after my parents died. They all liked me well enough, but…" He shook his head and sighed. "There was always this pressure from them for me to get married, and that was just…"

"Hey." Dís nudged him with her elbow. When he looked up, he groaned at the suggestive look she was giving him.

"Please, not this again."

"I'm just saying." She picked up another dish and began drying it. "It's not like your dating pool is huge right now, and—"

Kíli reappeared, his hands empty now. He was frowning. "Bifur says that Fíli went back inside with you."

Bilbo paused. "No, he didn't. I-I mean, I didn't see him."

Dís looked back and forth between the two of them. "Wait, inside? What are you talking about?"

"Well, he—Fíli—" He stammered for a moment, struck with the sudden, sinking feeling that he'd done something wrong. "He went out with Bifur and I to collect some snow, and h-he stayed with Bifur to help him with the traps. At least, that's what I thought…"

The furrow in Dís's brow deepened. "So, was he with _you_, or was he with Bifur?"

"I went inside alone. I don't know if I came in after me a-and went somewhere else—"

Dís rose to her feet, dropping the towel to the ground. Bilbo hurried to follow her, the dish in his hands slipping back into the water, with Kíli on his heels.

They found Bifur relaxing in his armchair, though he sat up when he saw Dís approaching. Before he could say anything, she demanded, "Where's Fíli?"

He glanced from her to Bilbo. "He didn't want to check the traps with me, so I sent him to catch up with you."

Dís's voice was low and horrified. "Bifur, we can't find him."

Bilbo held his hands out. "Let's not jump to conclusions, okay? We haven't even searched the whole store yet." His heart was beginning to pound, and his words were directed as much to himself as the others. "Ori was on watch. He must have seen him come in."

The four of them hurried to find Ori, and eventually spotted him fiddling with his camera in his sleeping area. He looked up, shrinking a little as Dís approached.

"When you were on watch, did you see Fíli come back inside?"

"N-No," he said, the camera dropping into his lap. "But my shift was over a few minutes after Bilbo came back in. I didn't see Bifur come back either."

"Who was after you?"

"Thorin. What's going on? Is Fíli missing?"

Dís muttered something unintelligible and whirled around to find her brother. The rest of the group in the living area shot them concerned looks as the five of them hurried past.

Thorin was coming from the back, likely checking up on the roof even though his shift had ended already. His expression darkened with concern as he saw the five of them. "What happened?"

Dís stopped and grabbed him by the elbows. "Please tell me you saw Fíli come back inside today."

"I didn't." He glanced around, searching everyone's faces. "Why was he outside?"

Bilbo let out a panicked breath, and a paralyzing chill swept into the empty space. That could only mean that Fíli was still out there—_alone_—

Everything became a rush after that, questions and jumbled explanations and words of disbelief swirling about. Everyone was moving towards the front door, and they only stopped when Thorin's voice rose above everyone else's.

"Everyone, quiet!" He glared at them until they were silent, then moved to the front of the crowd, between them and the door. "We need most of the group to stay behind. We can't leave this place vulnerable. I'll take a small team—"

Dís pushed her way to the front, Víli right behind her. "We should start looking now. He's been gone for hours at this point."

"I wanna come, too." Kíli appeared, his eyes wide and watery. "I wanna find Fíli."

Víli knelt down and put his hands on Kíli's shoulders. "Don't worry, okay? We'll find your brother. I need you to stay here and keep this place safe for when we get back."

"I should probably go, too." Bilbo stepped forward. "I-It's partially my fault he's missing." Bifur moved up as well, though he didn't say anything, his jaw tense.

"Fine." Thorin shifted his gaze to the others. "The rest of you, watch the entrances. Keep a lookout on the roof while you can. It's going to get dark soon"

With that, he turned and headed for the door, the other four following him. Bilbo glanced back in time to see Kíli watching them, looking small and lost in his oversized coat, before Brana led him away.

The cold billowed over them like a cloud as Thorin pushed the door open, but Bilbo barely felt it. There was only the white, buzzing anxiety taking up most of the space in his chest, each jolt reintroducing him to the fact that Fíli was _missing_.

As Thorin had warned, the sun was already going down. The woods were shrouded in shadow, and the tiny beam of light from Bifur's flashlight did little to help them see. It took them a while to find the tracks they had left earlier that day, but thankfully they were still there.

Worse than the cold was the silence that hung about the group as they followed the footprints. Dís and Víli stayed close, tense shoulders brushing occasionally, and Bilbo imagined this was an echo of the grief they'd felt when Kíli had been separated from their group all those months ago.

Bifur was at the front, flashlight sweeping the dim trees for signs of life (or otherwise), and Bilbo could see from the stiffness in his posture just how much he blamed himself for what happened. It made the sting of his own carelessness all the worse.

And Thorin, keeping pace with Bifur, looked just as tense and alert as ever. But Bilbo still caught flashes of panic in his eyes every time he turned to look around.

The light glinted off something lying in the snow, and they all rushed to see what it was. Bilbo's stomach sank as he realized it was the bucket Fíli had been using to collect snow.

Thorin threw an arm out before Dís or Víli could reach it. "Stop. We need to preserve the tracks."

Bifur finally spoke. "Fíli must have backtracked from there. I was in that direction when I sent him back." He moved the flashlight's beam to indicate where he was talking about, then moved it back to where the bucket was lying.

"Jesus Christ," Dís hissed. The snow had been scuffed and trampled in a rather chaotic pattern, but it was clear that some sort of struggle had taken place. As the flashlight drew wider circles around the area, they were able to piece together a more complete picture of what had happened.

There were three tracks connected to where the struggle had taken place—the one Fíli must have left heading back to the store, another set of prints coming from another angle, and then a set of two leading away.

"Someone else must have intercepted him here," Thorin said, indicating the two tracks.

Víli's voice was ragged as he said, "Do you think a walker…"

"There's no blood," Bilbo said, then cleared his throat as his voice wavered. "There—There would be blood if h-he was bit. Maybe he got away."

Maybe a walker had attacked Fíli but he had gotten away unharmed. Maybe he was only lost right now, terrified and exhausted but _safe_, and they would find him and bring him back and this would be nothing more than a brief scare.

"It wasn't a walker," Bifur said lowly. He took a few steps towards the pair of tracks. "The steps are close together, nearly on top of one another. If a walker was chasing him, they'd be farther apart, taking slightly different paths."

Dís made a low, strangled noise. She was shaking. "Come on."

She took off at a run, and the rest of them followed her, fumbling through the shadows after the footprints in the snow.

It wasn't long before Bilbo's lungs were burning, but he kept pace with the others. Desperation was the only thing keeping him upright, countering the dizzying realization that someone had taken Fíli, that he was probably afraid and in pain right now, assuming he wasn't—

They broke through the treeline and stopped dead. The tracks ended just outside the forest, right before snowy ground turned to asphalt. The snow had either melted or blown away, and they'd come to a dead end.

A freezing gust swept down the road. Bilbo stared at the point where it disappeared behind the trees, and felt despair echo back at him.

**Don't worry guys, Fili was in the barn the whole time!**  
**But in all seriousness, things are about to start picking up again and will get a lot darker than I originally planned. Take that how you will.**


	19. Chapter 19

**This warning does not fully encompass any of the shit that happens in this chapter, but for anyone who would be bothered by this, the dog dies.**

**Chapter 19**

They returned to the warehouse in the early hours of the morning, freezing and exhausted. Bilbo was fairly sure the tips of his fingers were numb, but the sensation was distant. Everything was.

They'd spent hours combing the length of the road, searching for footprints or any other sign of what had happened to Fíli. A set of blurred tracks had given them a bit of false hope, but all they'd found at the end of the trail was a walker stuck up to its knees in snow. Víli had stepped forward, and there hadn't been much left of the walker afterwards.

Finally, Bilbo had worked up the courage to suggest they head back to the warehouse—if only to check in with the others and pool their resources for another search. He didn't dare suggest that they might need rest, even as he began to stumble through the snow. It seemed trivial, almost insulting, to think about rest when Fíli was still out there.

The doors opened as they crossed the parking lot, and Óin was waiting for them when they stepped inside.

"We started to think you weren't coming back at all," he said, counting the members of their group with no subtlety whatsoever. He let out a short, rough sigh. "No luck?"

Thorin and Bifur march by without a word. Bilbo wouldn't have put it past them to walk right out the back door and continue the search. He didn't think it would be a good idea to stop them.

"We, um…" Dís faltered, pressing two fingers to her brow. Her face was ashen, and Víli was partially supporting her with an arm around her shoulders.

They both looked dead on their feet with worry and exhaustion, and Bilbo felt something guilt-laced churn in his stomach. He reached over and touched Víli on the arm. "I'll handle this. You two, um, get some rest."

Víli gave him a grateful nod and led his wife away. Bilbo waited until Óin had finished closing the door, then began walking with him towards their living area.

Once the two were out of earshot, Óin asked, lowly, "Is he dead?"

"_No_," Bilbo said, the word out of his mouth before he could really think about it. "I-I mean, we don't know."

They reached the living area, where everyone had gathered. Kíli was leaning against Brana, looking half-asleep, though he sat up straight when he saw Bilbo approach.

"Where's Fíli?"

Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, then stopped as tears welled up. After a moment, he managed to push them down. He couldn't break down now. He didn't deserve it.

"We...We found his tracks in the snow. We think someone must have taken him."

An alarmed murmur swept over the group. Kíli's expression crumpled, and he sat down and put his face in his hands. Brana put an arm around him, but her eyes were on Bilbo as Balin asked, "Were you able to follow the tracks?"

"They stopped at the road." He tried to take a breath, though it was difficult with the hard, cold pit lodged in his chest. "So we...we don't…"

"We'll take the car tomorrow, try again," Óin said, and a few others murmured in agreement. He patted Bilbo's shoulder. "Go get some rest in the meantime. You look like you're about to keel over."

"Alright," he mumbled, then made his way over to his bed. He didn't want to sleep—walking away just meant he didn't have to look at Kíli's shaking form and know he was at least partly to blame.

Feeling like a coward, he slumped onto the mattress and pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. It had all happened so fast—all because of an _accident_, for god's sake. If he had bothered to glance over his shoulder, then Fíli would be here.

"Hey."

He started, taking his hands from his face, and found Bombur holding the curtain back. Ori was peering over his shoulder.

"You should eat something." Bombur held out a cup of instant noodles, a towel wrapped around it to protect from the heat. "You were out there for a long time."

"Thank you." Bilbo sat up, but made no move to take the cup. "But I'm not hungry."

"You'll still need your strength, yeah?" Ori ducked under the curtain and sat down beside him. "We're going out to search again tomorrow."

"Right." He nodded, swallowing hard. Even if they did manage to find him, even if he was still alive, he would be changed. Something had already changed in the hours he'd been alone, possibly in pain, or…

Bombur gave him a light smack across the side of the head, jolting him out of his thoughts.

"Ow." He glared up at him. "What was that for?"

"Quit it. I know where your head's going right now." He sat down on his other side and offered the cup again. "Eat your damn soup."

Bilbo accepted it finally, and ate in silence. It didn't taste much like anything.

Bombur and Ori sat next to him in silence, and when he'd finished eating, they took the empty container and left. Bilbo let out a shaky sigh and laid down again. He still felt cold, ridden with grief and worry. But they had stopped him from spiraling, at least.

Sleep, obviously, didn't come. After a few hours, Bilbo decided there was no point stewing in his thoughts, and that he might as well walk around if he was going to torment himself with the same what-ifs.

His steps, almost subconsciously, led him to the roof. A part of him worried that Thorin and Bifur had actually gone out to search again, which sparked both anxiety and exasperation. The last thing they needed was another two members of their group out alone in the dark and at risk of also getting kidnapped.

Thorin and Bifur were nowhere to be found, but a few others were standing on the roof, scanning the ground below. Bilbo's eyes drifted towards the hunched figure sitting on the edge of the roof. The moon was just bright enough to reveal a blond glint. Víli and his son were the only two with such light hair.

He approached slowly, anxiety knotting in his gut. What was he supposed to say? Apologies, assurances—did any of it really matter?

Maybe he just needed someone to sit by him, as Ori and Bombur had done for him. Bilbo came to a stop at the edge of the roof, leaning his forearms on the low ledge. He glanced down and saw Víli's feet dangling over open air, and the knot in his chest tightened further.

"You're being careful?"

"Mm." Víli gave a short, jerky nod. "Don't tell Dís, though."

"Yeah." She was probably downstairs, worrying herself into knots. That had always been a given—she worried over her boys and everyone knew it, but Bilbo had never given much thought to how Víli felt about it. He seemed so collected most of the time, so confident that things would work out.

"She's always been the responsible one," Víli continued. "She always knew what was going on with the boys, made sure they got ready for school. Even during this shit show, she's been so...so _strong_ through all of it. I wish I could be more like her, you know?"

Bilbo smiled slightly, though there was no joy in it. "I think we all do." She and Thorin were certainly cut from the same cloth.

"I should have been there," Víli said, his voice growing thick. "When Kíli was left at the motel, when Fíli was taken...I mean, what kind of father lets that kind of thing happen to his kids?"

"No," Bilbo said. "It's not your fault—"

"Yeah, it is. I know everyone here takes care of the boys, but at the end of the day, I am their father. This is on _me_." He jabbed a finger at his chest, and the motion caused him to sway slightly.

Bilbo darted over and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Hey, hey, come on. You want to beat yourself up, don't do it on the edge of the roof."

Víli puffed out a breath and swung his legs over the side, taking a couple steps away. "I'm sorry. I might be a little sleep deprived right now."

"We all are." Bilbo took him by the elbow and began leading him towards the door. "Go get some rest, if you can. We'll deal with this in the morning."

Whatever tomorrow would bring, he dreaded. He turned one last time to look at the dark expanse, the waving fingers of the empty trees below, then shivered and headed inside.

* * *

Bilbo woke the next morning feeling sluggish, his legs sore from trudging across miles of pavement and damp soil. He wasn't really sure if he'd gotten any sleep at all.

The others were already up, getting dressed and packing away weapons and other supplies for their search. There was no new hope in the atmosphere, only a tense sort of desperation. Whatever it took, they _had_ to find Fíli today.

Thorin was standing by one of the dining tables, leaning over a large sheet of paper with a rough sketch of the surrounding area. He looked haggard, but there was a still a sharpness in his gaze as he spoke with Víli and Óin.

"You good?" Bombur asked, coming to stand next to him.

He shrugged and suppressed a yawn. "Exhausted, for starters."

"I think there's still a little coffee left in the pot, if you want it."

"Thanks." He walked over to the kitchen area and retrieved his mug from the container on the counter. They each had their own with some sort of personalized decoration—his had faded paintings of mushrooms on the side. He filled it up halfway with the remaining coffee and glanced at the container again. Fíli's was peeking out from the side, decorated with some masked character that he'd painted himself. He liked to pour his juice or water into it in the morning, possibly to fit in with everyone else. He looked away, a lump growing in his throat.

"Alright, everyone," Thorin said, raising his voice so they could all hear him. "We'll split up into three teams of three. The other five will stay here to keep watch, keep the place safe. Balin will drive everyone to their areas, and we'll comb through from there and reconvene at—"

The walkie on the table crackled, and everyone froze as Bofur's voice sounded, tensely delivering two words: "They're back."

Thorin took a deep breath and straightened. "Change of plans. Bifur, Glóin, Bombur, I want you on the roof, reinforcing Bofur's position. The rest of you—with me."

Brana stood with a slight wince, one hand supporting her belly. "I'll go find Kíli. I think he's still asleep."

Glóin hesitated. "You'll be okay?"

"Of course. You be safe too, yeah?" She gave her a quick kiss, then set off to find Kíli.

Bilbo hurried to catch up as the others set off towards the front door. At the mention of the other group, adrenaline had shot through him, faster than the caffeine would have, and he placed one trembling hand on his gun as they walked.

They were waiting in the parking lot, both trucks in nearly the exact same position as last time. The man who had spoken before, Alfrid, was waiting in front. His hands were tucked in his pockets—he looked too relaxed, given the situation.

"You have thirty seconds to turn around," Thorin said, the lines of his body tense and angry. "Or we'll open fire."

"Well, I think you'll want to hear what we have to say." Alfrid took a moment to look around at their group, a smug glint in his eye. "You weren't a big fan of our last trade, so we've changed the terms." He glanced back. "Azog?"

The pale man stepped forward. Everyone was standing outside of the trucks, and another man was holding the leash of the large white dog. It wasn't barking this time, only growling lowly, leaning forward so that the leash was taut.

Azog walked around the truck and stopped at the passenger door. He opened it and pulled something out.

Dís let out a scream and darted forward, only for Nori to grab her by the shoulders and hold her back. Víli was being restrained similarly by Dori.

Fíli didn't meet any of their eyes as Azog dragged him in front of the truck. His clothing was dirty and scraped, and a nasty purple bruise covered most of the left side of his face. He was shaking so badly, it took a moment for him to regain his balance. Bilbo took in a breath, and let out a dizzying mixture of fear and rage.

"It's a simple trade," Alfrid said. "We've left this one mostly intact." He gestured to Fíli.

The dog suddenly lunged forward, nearly dislodging the leash from the other man's hands. He snarled and barked, and Fíli flinched away.

"We'll return him to you, in exchange for this place. And that includes all the shit inside."

Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo saw Nori dart back into the warehouse. Dís was standing stiffly, her whole body trembling with rage.

"I know you have people on the roof," Azog said. His voice was grating, like a shoe scraping along the pavement. "Put your weapons down, now." He slid a knife from his belt, Fíli's jacket still gripped in the other hand.

"Do it," Thorin hissed, and everyone fumbled to place their guns on the ground.

"I'd say it's a pretty fair trade," Alfrid said, holding his hands out. "What's a few boxes of food, as long as the family's together?"

"Thorin," Dís said, her voice low and pleading, in contrast to the murderous glare she was giving Azog.

"I know," he said, his whole body almost seeming to shake with the magnitude of the choice put in front of him.

The next few heartbeats of silence seemed to last an eternity. The rage coming from their group was palpable, sizzling against the cool cruelty of the other. But all Bilbo could see was Fíli, his hair falling into his face, his hands pressed against his sides. His form was nothing more than a sliver next to Azog's bulk.

Thorin straightened. "We…" He went still. "We accept your terms."

"You." Azog lifted a finger, and Bilbo realized with a jolt that he was pointing at him. His lips parted to reveal a wolflike grin. "Come and get him."

Everyone turned to look at him. Bilbo stepped forward, careful of the collection of guns on the ground. Thorin put a hand out, as if to stop him.

"It's okay," Bilbo whispered to him. "I-I'll bring him back."

Thorin turned away, lowering his hand, and Bilbo continued on. Each step across the parking lot was drowned out by the thumping pulse echoing in his ears. The dog lunged again, and Bilbo couldn't help but flinch slightly. Its bulk could have knocked him over easily.

He could feel Azog's unnerving gaze boring into him, but he kept his focus on Fíli as he approached. When he was only a few feet away, Azog let go and shoved him forward. Fíli stumbled the rest of the way into his arms.

"It's okay," Bilbo whispered, holding him close. Fíli let out a barely-concealed sob and clung to him. "It's okay. I've got you." He looked up and met Azog's eyes, the cruel amusement carved into his face.

Bilbo had never truly hated anyone before. The angriest he'd ever been was when someone crashed their shopping cart into his brand new car in the supermarket parking lot and scratched the paint. But looking at the man in front of him, he considered Azog very lucky that he'd left his gun on the ground back there.

"Come on," he said, turning his attention back to Fíli. He adjusted his grip so that the two of them could walk side by side, and headed back towards their group. "Come on. You're okay." Fíli was still shaking badly, and Bilbo had to stop more than once to steady him.

They were halfway across when Bilbo caught the barest hiss of laughter behind him, followed by the slick sound of leather hitting the ground. He turned around just in time to see the dog running at them at full speed.

"Go!" he shouted, shoving Fíli in front of him.

They broke into a run, but Bilbo had only taken a couple steps before a weight collided with his back and sent him sprawling. The hot, snarling breath of the dog washed over the back of his neck. He cried out and tried to roll onto his back and dislodge the paws digging into his shoulder blades.

A sharp pain clamped around his shoulder, and he cried out again. The dog growled and readjusted its bite, reigniting the agony in his upper arm. Bilbo fumbled for his gun, fingers scraping against the pavement, and realized he'd left it behind.

A gunshot cracked across the parking lot, and the weight on his back lifted. Bilbo pushed himself up, gasping, in time to see the dog flop onto the ground and lie still. Azog roared, the sound both agonized and terrifying, and lifted his rifle.

"Bilbo!" Thorin shouted, and the air was filled with explosions.

Desperately, Bilbo dove for cover behind their truck, which was parked nearby. Blood had soaked through his sleeve and was running down his arm, but he barely felt it.

The rest of the group had taken cover behind the wooden barricades, which were barely big enough to shield all of them. Splinters flew into the air as bullets tore through the barriers.

With his back against one of the barriers, Thorin shot Bilbo a wide-eyed glance. Most of their weapons had been left on the ground, but Thorin had his gun—he must have been the one to shoot the dog.

Bilbo flinched as a bullet ricocheted off the ground just near his foot. If he tried to make it to the others, he'd be dead before he could get halfway.

Something shiny passed over his head. At first, Bilbo didn't think much of it, but then a rushing sound billowed out from behind, followed by a wave of heat. He peeked around the car as someone screamed.

The hood of one of the trucks was on fire. The man who had been holding the leash stumbled back as flames crawled up his arm. Breathing hard, Bilbo glanced back at the roof in time to see Nori lob a bottle stuffed with a rag at the other group.

"Fuck off, you sons of bitches!"

"Bilbo!" Thorin gestured for him, and he realized this would probably be his only chance to make it to safety. He pushed himself up, ignoring the sharp twinge in his shoulder, and sprinted for the wooden barricades.

A bullet shattered the wood beam just behind his ankle, close enough for him to feel the rush of air as it passed, but Dwalin pulled him behind cover just in time.

"Everyone inside, now!" Thorin shouted as more gunshots filled the air. He and Dwalin took up positions on either side and began firing back at Azog's group.

"Come on!" Dori grabbed him by his good arm and nearly dragged him inside.

They gathered in a semicircle just inside the door, breathing hard. Fíli had his arms wrapped around Dís, who was clinging to him just as tightly. A moment later, Thorin and Dwalin ran inside and slammed the doors shut.

"We need to cover all the exits," Thorin said. He pushed one of the metal racks into place as Dori grabbed the other. "The side doors, the back— Make sure you're behind cover. We can still—"

The doors exploded inwards.

Bilbo gasped as the store was flooded with light, then dove behind a shelf as bullets flew inside. Dís and Fíli were right beside him, and a quick glance around confirmed that everyone had made it to cover. Everyone except—

The remaining truck had crashed through the doors and knocked down the racks, and Dori was pinned underneath. He strained to push it off as Azog stepped out of the truck.

"Run!"

Azog's arm extended in an almost lazy motion. His finger squeezed the trigger, the gunshot like a shrug. Dori's head jerked to the side, and blood sprayed across the floor.

Bilbo threw himself back against the shelf, gasping for air that wouldn't come. _No, no, nonono—_

Dís grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet. Tears were running down her face. "Come on! We have to go!"

"No," Bilbo said, even as his traitorous feet began to move at the sound of a revving engine. "We can't—We can't just leave—"

He caught a glimpse of Víli and Dwalin running on the other side of the store, but it was only a flash before the truck barreled through, hurling bullets from all four windows. A cardboard display for office supplies exploded as the truck crashed into it.

Where was Thorin, and Kíli and Brana? Did the people on the roof know what was happening? Did Nori and Ori know—

A shelf full of dishware exploded to their left, raining ceramic shards and bits of plastic down on them. Bilbo cried out, and he, Dís and Fíli collapsed behind another shelf.

The truck drove past, its crashing bulk almost as loud as the gunshots. Underneath it all, Bilbo could hear the demented laughter of the men inside.

"W-We need to find—"

"We need to get out of here, okay?" Dís made to grab his shoulder, but stopped herself as she noticed the blood. "W-We need to get Fíli out of here. We'll come back if we need to."

Bilbo took in a shaky breath, running his hands across his face. "Okay. Okay."

Dís looked down at Fíli, who was curled up at her side. "We need to be ready to run again."

"Mom," he said, tearfully. "I-I don't want to. I don't want to do this."

"I know, baby." She brushed his hair out of his face, revealing the swollen bruise on his cheek. "But we have to, alright? I need you to be brave, just a little longer."

Bilbo pushed himself up and went to take Fíli's other hand. If he couldn't be strong for himself, then he would be strong for him. "We'll be right beside you."

The three of them stood together and sprinted for the back. They kept close to the wall, though the trail of destruction the truck had left through the center was clearly visible. Their kitchen area had been destroyed, their mugs scattered in shards along the floor.

The truck was stalled at the back of the store as they tried to figure out how to turn it around in the narrow space. It would have been comical in any other situation. But it gave them time to make it to the doors.

They stumbled into the backroom, and Bilbo yelped as the barrel of a gun was shoved in his face.

"Jesus, you scared the shit out of us." Nori stepped back and lowered his weapon. He glanced around at the crowd of wide-eyed people in the dim space. "Is that everyone?"

Something in his chest tightened. Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, but everyone started as the backroom door swung open again.

Alfrid stared at them, open-mouthed, for a moment. His hand went for his gun, but Nori shot him in the face before he'd even gotten it out of the holster.

Just outside, someone shouted, "They're in there!"

"Shit," Thorin said. "We need to move." They all rushed towards the fire door, but paused as they noticed it was boarded up.

"I got it." Dwalin stepped forward, lifting his axe. With a roar, he swung down, and demolished the boards in two strokes.

The backroom door opened again, and a gunshot cracked across the space. Someone screamed.

"Go!" Thorin shouted, pushing them back with one hand and firing his gun with the other. "Get out!"

It was a mad dash of stumbling limbs and grasping hands as they poured out into the cold once more, across the pavement and into the trees. Bilbo didn't know how long they ran, or when the gunshots stopped, only that each snapping twig delivered another jolt of terror that spurred him on further.

Balin was the first to collapse, and everyone came to a halt shortly afterwards. Bilbo sat down against a tree, barely feeling the snow begin to soak into his pants, and tried to catch his breath.

"Stay alert," Thorin said, his voice ragged. "We might need to move again soon."

Víli, hugging Kíli to his chest, fell to his knees. Dís and Fíli joined them, and the four of them sat in a tight knot. Dwalin knelt down to check on his brother. Bifur and Bofur both helped to steady Bombur as he caught his breath.

Nori turned in a circle, nearly staggering. "That's sixteen. Who are we missing?"

Bilbo put his head in his hands, feeling a sob building his chest. His shoulder was throbbing, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"We lost Dori," Dwalin said, lowly. "That bastard killed him."

Nori let out a breath that seemed to deflate his wiry frame. "What?"

"Brana!" Glóin's cry cut through the trees. "Oh god, _no_!"

The terror in her voice was enough to make Bilbo stand again, and they all rushed over to see what had happened.

Brana was sitting against a tree not to far away, tears streaking her face. Glóin was kneeling next to her, one hand pressed against her stomach. Blood was leaking through her fingers.

"Move," Óin pushed his way to the front and knelt on her other side.

"It was—when we were in the back—" Brana managed in between sobs.

Óin inspected the wound for a moment, then sat back on his heels. "The bullet grazed you. That's it. We need to stop the bleeding, alright? You're going to be fine."

Bofur stepped forward to offer a piece of cloth. Glóin put her arms around Brana's shoulders and buried her face in her neck.

Bilbo turned away, putting one hand on a nearby tree to steady himself. They'd almost lost Fíli, and the thought of losing the baby as well was almost to horrible to consider. And Dori…

He took a couple of breaths to try and quell the nausea rising in his gut. When he looked up, he saw Thorin standing at the edge of the clearing, watching for any sign of Azog's men. Or maybe he was looking back at what they'd just lost.

Stumbling footsteps carried him across that distance, until he was standing just behind him. It wasn't enough, not after what had happened today, but all he wanted in that moment was to close the distance between Thorin and the others.

"Thorin," he said, the word barely audible. "That...That wasn't you back there. That wasn't on you. Okay?"

"Don't say that." Thorin turned away, but not before Bilbo caught a glimpse of his red rimmed eyes.

He made to walk away, and desperation gripped him. Bilbo reached out, taking hold of his coat, and pulled him back. Surprisingly, Thorin went.

An unspeakable need drove him forward, and Bilbo wrapped his arms around his waist, ignoring the jab of pain in his shoulder. "You're okay," he whispered, pressing his head into Thorin's chest. "You're okay."

A long moment passed, then Thorin put his arms around Bilbo's shoulders and leaned into him. And Bilbo shuddered—from the pain, from the pressure of Thorin's body, from the horror of all that had been torn away from them.


	20. Chapter 20

**Warning for mention/short discussion of suicide in this chapter. Nothing happens though.**

**Chapter 20**

"They tried to make me tell them how to get in. But I didn't. I didn't tell them."

The clearing was silent, not even the wind making a sound in the bare trees above. Fíli was curled up against a tree, Dís on one side and Kíli and Víli on the other. Óin had wrapped a scarf around some snow to use as a makeshift icepack for the bruise on his face, which had swelled to a dark purple. Kíli reached out to take his brother's hand.

"You did good." Víli reached over to ruffle his hair. "We're proud of you."

Fíli said nothing, only leaning down to rest his chin on his knees.

Bilbo was shaking, for a number of reasons. He was cold, having forgotten his coat back in the warehouse, and his wound was throbbing, pain licking at his shoulder like an open flame. But more than that, he was absolutely furious. The thought that there were people out there who would hurt a little boy for any reason sparked an all-consuming rage within him. The thought that they would smirk about it, that they would laugh at destruction and fire a bullet at a pregnant woman—it made him sick. It made him think, darkly, that perhaps it was for the best that most of humanity was dead by now, if that was what they were capable of.

Glóin seemed to be having similar thoughts. She stood and rested one hand on the gun at her hip. "I'm going back there," she said, her voice nearly a growl, "and I'm going to kill every last one of those bastards."

Beside her, Brana was sitting, bundled in Dís's coat since she'd also forgotten her own. Tears were still streaming down her face, but Óin had promised that she wasn't in any life-threatening danger. At the very least, the wound on her stomach had stopped bleeding a while ago, and her face didn't look quite as drawn as it had before.

"We can't," Dís said. "We can't go back. They took the place, and we're missing half our weapons."

Bifur grunted in agreement, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. "Not like we're about to go the kidnapping route, too."

Dís shot him a look, but Fíli looked as if he'd barely heard.

Almost everyone turned to look at Thorin. He was standing at the edge of the clearing, his face pale but unreadable. The last time he'd spoken had been when he'd asked Óin to take a look at Bilbo's shoulder. After that, he'd moved back and fallen silent. Bilbo would have called it a retreat if it had been anyone else.

It took him a moment to respond to their collective questioning stare. "We can't go back. We don't have the weapons or the resources. We need to start looking for food," he glanced at Bilbo and Brana, "and medicine."

"We need to look for formula," Glóin muttered, then put her face in her hands. "_Fuck_."

They'd left behind boxes upon boxes of it back there, along with diapers and food and their beds and mugs and...and _Dori_…

A chilly silence swept over the group.

Kíli untangled his hand from Fíli's and reached behind to slip his backpack off his shoulders. He set it on his lap and unzipped the bag, which was decorated with dinosaurs. "I have some stuff." He pulled out a bag of trail mix, a candy bar, and some canned fruit.

"The seven-year-old packed a go bag," Bifur muttered.

Dís leaned over as Kíli pulled out a flashlight, his DS, and a juice box. "Honey, why do you have all this stuff?"

"I was gonna go look for Fíli if you guys didn't find him," Kíli half-mumbled, looking defensive. "I needed supplies."

Víli reached over and pulled a lighter out of the pack. "Where did you—it doesn't matter." He stowed it away in his jacket pocket.

"Well, it's certainly something," Balin said, standing with a wince.

"We should get moving," Thorin said. "We need to find shelter before it gets dark. We don't know if they plan on coming after us."

Glóin turned to him with a frown. "Thorin—"

"He's right," Brana said, straightening with a wince. "We can't stay here." She put a hand on her belly, and Glóin and Bofur rushed to help her stand up.

Bilbo looked up as Bombur extended a hand towards him. "Thanks." He stood, letting out a sharp breath as his shoulder gave a nasty twinge. The joint was stiff from the makeshift bandage Óin had wrapped around it, but it still hurt tremendously.

"You okay?" Bombur asked, patting him on his good arm.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be—" He suppressed a shiver and shifted his weight. "It's not too bad."

He'd gotten far from the worst of it, he thought, looking at Ori, huddled against a large root jutting from the ground. It took a few tries, but Balin managed to rouse him and get him moving. He stumbled at first, eyes wide and distant.

Looking around, it seemed as if Nori was gone from their group, but then Bilbo spotted him up ahead, moving stiffly next to Thorin and Bifur. He swallowed back a wave of nausea and began walking.

At the very least, Dori wouldn't turn. It was a small mercy, just a sliver compared to the massive wave of grief that was hanging over them, threatening to crash down at any moment.

He closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. Their group continued through the forest, their steps no steadier than the walkers'.

* * *

Two days later, Bilbo woke to the sound of his own chattering teeth. He sat up, shivers making his movements unsteady, and looked around. Most of the group was already up and making preparations to start moving again. They'd all slept on the ground the last two nights, huddled around a small fire to try and ward off the cold, but evidently he'd lost what little heat they'd managed to preserve.

They'd been trudging through the woods with no sign of civilization so far. Supplies had dwindled down to nothing, and most of the food from Kíli's pack had gone to Brana, who could barely walk. Glóin had managed to shoot a rabbit, but it had been a pathetic meal between the sixteen of them.

"Rise and shine," Víli said, walking over. "You okay? You're not looking too hot."

"I don't feel hot at all," he mumbled. He'd been feeling steadily worse over the past few days, his shoulder growing more painful until it was a constant throbbing presence that left his right arm practically useless. But there was no point in complaining, not when they were all injured or going hungry or grieving. Or all three.

All they could do now was press on. He pushed himself to his feet, and a white, buzzing sensation overtook his senses. He didn't remember falling, but his injured shoulder hit the ground first, and he cried out as an awful stabbing sensation radiated out from the point.

When the pain subsided, he realized Víli was kneeling over him, pulling him up by his good arm. He pressed the backs of his fingers to Bilbo's forehead. "Shit, you're burning up." He turned to call over his shoulder, "Óin, we need you."

Tears pricked his eyes as the burning in his shoulder grew worse. More people were crowding around, looking down at him with concern.

Óin knelt down next to him and pulled back the collar of his shirt, prodding at the makeshift bandages beneath. "It's probably infected." He let out a harsh sigh. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I-I didn't know," Bilbo whispered. "This is all kind of new to me. I don't get bit by rabid dogs that often."

Víli looked at Óin, eyes wide. "Do you think…?"

"I've had my shots," he said. "I was just exaggerating."

But the panicked look did not leave his eyes. With a sinking sensation, Bilbo realized that he'd been _bit_. By a dog, yes, and one that had been alive as far as he knew, but there was still the chance…

"I-It's probably nothing." Víli squeezed his knee after seeing the growing panic on his face. "The virus kills everyone within a couple days. It's been longer than that."

"Either way, he's not looking great." Óin looked up as Thorin approached. "He's going to need antibiotics. And soon."

Bilbo dropped his head onto his knees with a small groan, still shivering. They were stranded in the middle of the woods, starving and cold and injured. And he'd probably be dead in a couple days or so, if that. They would all have to watch him be consumed by fever and pain, and afterwards…

Would he know, when he turned? Would a small part of him still be inside, trapped and unable to do anything but watch? Would he feel it, when they were forced to kill him?

A warm heat dropped over his shoulders, jolting him out of his thoughts. He looked up in time to see Thorin walking away, now wearing only a thin pullover.

"I'm making a run, for antibiotics and any other supplies I can find," he said.

Víli turned to look at him. "Now isn't the time to be splitting off from the group. Why don't we—"

"I'll move faster on my own." Thorin gave him a look that brooked no argument. "And we can't be wasting time with this."

"I'm coming with you," Nori said, stepping next to him. "You'll need someone to watch your back." Everyone turned to look at him. It was the most he'd said in the past two days.

"Alright." Thorin made to leave, then turned back to the others. "If we're not back by this time tomorrow, just keep moving east."

Bilbo opened his mouth to say something, maybe a "thank you" or a "be careful," but the words were stuck in his throat. He reached up to pull Thorin's coat tighter around himself.

"Come on." Víli and Óin helped him move back against one of the trees. "Just rest, for now."

He settled back, then winced and readjusted his position as his shoulder protested violently. Once he was settled, Óin walked over to Thorin and began rattling off a list of medicines he would need.

Kíli walked over, his pack tucked under one arm, and offered him the juice box. "My mom gives us juice when we're sick sometimes."

"That's alright. I'm not very thirsty." Bilbo offered him a weak smile. It didn't feel right to take any food, not when they had so little—even if his stomach had been growling for the past few days.

"You'd best take it," Óin said, reappearing at his side. Thorin and Nori had already gone. "You'll need to stay hydrated, keep your strength up. Hopefully Thorin brings some water back from his suicide mission."

Bilbo shot him a look. "Don't say things like that."

Óin only grunted and walked away.

Kíli sat down next to him and drew his knees up to his chest. "What's suicide?"

He suppressed a groan. "Óin was only exaggerating. Don't worry about it."

"But what is it?"

"It's…" He let out a sigh. After all they'd been through, it was more of a fantasy than anything to try and protect the boys from the darker aspects of humanity. The very least he could do was try and help him understand it. "When someone is, um, not feeling right, then they might want to die. Suicide is when they try and cause their own death."

Kíli's face was somber as he tried to process the information. "Oh."

"But that's _not_ what Thorin is trying to do. He wants to help all of us, and sometimes that means putting himself in danger."

"Do you wanna die because you're sick?"

"No, no! I'd really rather not, all things considered." He reached out to squeeze Kíli's hand. "It's not something you need to worry about."

But the furrow in Kíli's brow only deepened. "What about Fíli? He doesn't talk to me anymore. He doesn't talk to anyone."

"No," Bilbo said, and swallowed hard. The thought of it was too sickening to bear. "Fíli was in a...bad situation, but we're all looking out for him. He'll come back to his old self eventually. You just have to be patient with him."

"Okay." Kíli shot a glum glance in the direction of his brother, who was sitting in silence, idly pushing a rock through the dirt with the tip of his shoe. Dís was not far from him, as usual.

"In the meantime, you can spend some time with me," Bilbo said. "I'm afraid I'm not much fun right now, but I'd enjoy your company."

"Okay." Kíli scooted over and snuggled against him, and Bilbo felt a burst of warmth fill his shivering body.

* * *

The windows of the hospital looked like broken teeth, filled with jagged shards. Thorin spotted a leg dangling out of one, and watched it for a while to make sure it wasn't moving.

It had only taken them a few hours to come across a highway cutting through the woods, and from there they'd followed it to the closest town. It looked abandoned for the most part, but Thorin still tensed at every rattling gust of wind. He'd nearly fired at a darting shape which turned out to be nothing more than a squirrel.

"There'll probably be tons inside," Nori said. "Walkers."

The hospitals had been the first places to be overrun, as infected people had crowded there before everyone realized what was happening. The one back home had burned down during the chaos—allegedly, since Thorin had no doubt the military had been trying to contain the outbreak. It had been a useless attempt in the end.

"We'll see how far we can get," Thorin said. "I don't want to spend too much time looking for a pharmacy in town."

"Fine by me," Nori said, rolling his shoulders, and the two of them headed for the front doors.

Thorin shot him a sidelong glance. Nori had been exceptionally quiet since they'd lost the warehouse, the air around him devoid of his usual quips and casual demeanor. He didn't blame him at all—he knew all too well what it was like to lose a brother, the raw pain that came with it. And knowing this, he hoped desperately that Nori wouldn't try anything stupid if they ran into danger.

The front doors had been busted open, and bits of broken glass crunched as they stepped over them. Dark stains clung to the edges of the glass and were smeared along the doorframe.

The lobby was filthy, scattered with rotting leaves from last season, long stains of mud and darker liquids, and crumpled, water-stained papers. The room went dark a few feet past the entrance, so Thorin clicked on the flashlight he'd borrowed from Kíli. It was low on battery and cast a pathetically dim beam, but it was better than nothing.

They checked the gift shop first, which was a little difficult to navigate between the overturned racks and other debris. The glass cabinets near the register had been smashed open, the jewelry inside dragged out. Thorin scoffed lowly. This place must have been ransacked in the early days, before people knew how to prioritize.

Nori picked out a large brown handbag and, with a shrug, started filling it with candy and snacks that had spilled onto the floor. Thorin began collecting scarves, pullovers, and anything else that would help them with the cold. He was already feeling the chill from his lack of a jacket, but shrugged it off. Bilbo needed it more than he did.

The image of him, shivering on the ground with gray-tinged skin and glassy eyes, pulled hard at the knot of worry in his chest. He'd been so preoccupied with their losses, with finding a new safe place for the group, that he'd missed that Bilbo was sick.

He couldn't lose him, not after...after everything.

A low scraping noise caught his attention, and he turned back towards the lobby.

"Walker," Nori whispered. "I got it." He stepped nimbly over a fallen rack of t-shirts and headed out the door. Thorin followed him through in time to see him jam a knife into a walker's head, right beneath its jaw, then lower it carefully to the ground.

They stood silently for a moment, listening out for any others that might be approaching, but the hospital stayed eerily silent. Thorin raised his flashlight and they continued on.

Not too far in, the light flashed across a blue and white sign that read _Cafeteria_. Nori let out an appreciative grunt. "Might be able to get some real food in there."

"Let's not forget about the meds, though," Thorin said as they headed for the double doors. In his back pocket was a list of unpronounceable names Óin had given him, all antibiotics that would hopefully be able to treat Bilbo. Ori had volunteered the paper and pen, scavenged from one of his jacket pockets. On the other side of the crumpled paper was a messy drawing of a cat.

Nori pushed open the door, then immediately cursed and jumped back as a walker grabbed at him.

Thorin lunged forward, slipping his knife from his belt, and jabbed it into the walker's eye. He let it fall past him, into the hallway, and scanned the room for more. Another one was staggering towards him but Nori, recovering from his shock, stepped forward and dispatched it quickly.

"Not too bad so far," Thorin murmured, scanning the rest of the room with his flashlight. A corpse was sprawled on one of the tables, but didn't move.

"Maybe most of them scattered outside," Nori said as he headed for the back. "Looking for fresh meat."

That would explain the stains on the doors outside. Thorin glanced at the salad bar, which was now filled with scraps of rotting food, and moved on.

Nori pushed open the door to the kitchen and made for the storeroom. The door was already open, and even from a distance they could see the torn-open boxes and empty cans inside.

"Fucking _shit_." Nori kicked one of the cans, and it hit the far wall with a sharp _clang_.

"Quiet," Thorin hissed at him. He turned and scanned the kitchen again, the light bouncing off the stainless steel surfaces, but nothing moved. "Let's search it anyway. Whoever was here first might have left something."

Nori let out a stream of curses under his breath, but stepped into the storeroom anyway. Thorin continued scanning the kitchen, and the glint of something sharp caught his eye. A set of knives were hanging on the wall, held in place by a magnetic panel. They weren't ideal, but they would be useful given their recent loss of weapons.

He walked closer, and his eyes fell on a gap between two of the blades, where one of them had been taken from the wall.

Quick footsteps sounded behind him, and Thorin turned in time to see a scrawny man lunge at him, the missing blade coming down towards his chest. He grabbed the man's wrist with one hand, pushing it to the side, and sidestepped the blow. Grabbing his elbow with his other hand, he used the man's momentum to spin him around and send him crashing against the metal counter. The knife clattered to the floor.

Behind him, Thorin could hear Nori rushing to help, but the man was already scrambling away on all fours.

"Wait, wait! Please—"

The gun was already in his hand, adrenaline setting his veins alight. He could see Azog's grinning face, Fíli's bruise, the fire, Dori's blood. He could see the debris on the floor of their old home.

The shot rang through the kitchen, and the man fell still as red sprayed from the back of his head.

"Shit," Nori breathed, then rushed for the doors as a low _thump_ sounded outside. "There's another one!"

They sprinted through the doors just as a second man darted back into the hallway. Thorin ran after him, his gun at the ready. Blood was roaring in his ears, a panicked rage filling his lungs. They couldn't let him get away.

The hallway was empty by the time they burst through the double doors. Nori nudged him and pointed to the stairwell door just as it swung shut.

"Son of a bitch is fast."

"Come on," Thorin said, and rushed over to wrench the door back open. They could hear the man's footsteps and panicked breaths echoing in the narrow space as they ran after him.

The door leading to the third floor slammed shut. As they reached the landing, a strange scraping sound was audible on the other side. Thorin didn't stop to guess what it was. His heart was pounding as he burst through the door, and it was too late by the time he registered the growls of the walkers.

Dozens of rotting corpses flooded the hallway from a set of double doors, tripping over each other in their haste. The man was nowhere to be seen. Thorin backed up, shooting the closest one in the head. In seconds, the walkers had blocked the door to the stairwell.

"Run!'

They were much faster than the walkers, but it wasn't long before they reached a dead end. Thorin yanked on the handle of the door in front of them, but it was locked.

"In here!" Nori grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the room to the right.

He slammed the door behind him. They stood in the dark, breathing hard, then jumped as a walker slammed against the glass window. A dozen more followed it soon after, and soon the crowd outside was at least forty deep, maybe more. Thorin couldn't see much beyond the three walkers in front smearing viscera against the glass.

"Well," Nori said, indicating their surroundings.

The room was narrow, made narrower by the two desks taking up either side. Each contained a couple of computer monitors and just above, small shelves of pill bottles.

"At least we're in the right place."

**I didn't have a particular canon equivalent for the two guys in the hospital. Since it's around the same geographical area, I guess you can think of them as goblins. (Kind of disappointed I didn't work in a cannibal storyline with the goblins, but it didn't really fit anywhere.)**

**Halfway through writing that last scene I realized Thorin and Nori have a sort of Rick&Daryl dynamic going on, which makes me wish there were more fics where they interact. (In case you haven't guessed, they're my two favorite dwarves lol)**


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

The tree bark dug into his hands, but Bilbo gripped it tight until the wave of dizziness had passed. He took a deep breath and winced as his shoulder gave another nasty throb.

It was nighttime now, and they hadn't seen any sign of Thorin or Nori. When he wasn't worrying about them, he was stuck in a hazy half-doze. His fever had gotten worse, and just walking a short distance to relieve himself had sapped most of his energy.

Balin, who was sitting on watch, looked up as he stumbled back to camp. "You all right?" He made to stand, but Bilbo waved him away.

"I'll be fine. Just need to get some rest."

He staggered past Balin and out of his line of sight, then leaned heavily against another tree. The sun had set a few hours ago, as far as he remembered, so they had...what? Another ten, twelve hours before Thorin had ordered them to move on? He didn't know if the group would be able to do it, not after everything they'd lost so far.

And Thorin had gone, had risked his life to try and save Bilbo's. He would do the same for anyone in the group, but the thought that he might not come back…

A small sob wavered through the air, followed by a louder sniffle.

Blinking back a wave of dizziness, Bilbo looked around. Everyone except for Balin, Bifur, and Dwalin was asleep, some more restfully than others. His eyes finally landed on Fíli's shaking form, curled up near the rest of his family. He thought for a moment that he was crying in his sleep, but then he saw Fíli reach up to wipe his cheeks.

"Fíli," he whispered, taking a step towards him, but his strength finally failed him, and he fell to his knees. His hands shot out to break his fall, and a white-hot burst of pain shot from his shoulder all the way down to his toes.

Bilbo hissed through his teeth and took several deep breaths to ride out the agony radiating from his wound. It didn't seem like this was going to be an easy death.

"Bilbo?" Fíli's sneakers shuffled almost silently across the ground as he went to squat down beside him. "Are you okay?"

"Ah." He shifted his weight back onto his heels, testing his balance. There was no easy answer to that question. "My shoulder hurts, that's all." He decided that moving again wasn't the wisest option, and carefully lowered himself onto his back.

Fíli gave another sob, quickly concealed in his sleeve. He was wearing his blue sweater, the same he'd been wearing the first day they'd met, though now it was thoroughly stained with mud and had worn through in more than a few places.

"Do you want to talk to me?" Bilbo asked, wishing he had the energy to hug him.

"No." Fíli stayed where he was, crouched with his arms around his knees. " I don't know."

"I don't want you to be upset."

"But...But it's my fault." He sniffled again and wiped his nose with his sleeve.

"What do you mean?"

"I-It's 'cause of me that those guys came back and attacked us. I got caught, and n-now you're sick, and Uncle Dori d-died…" He trailed off as his sobs began to distort his words.

"Oh, Fíli." An ache appeared in his chest, duller but somehow far worse than the pain in his shoulder. "Come here, now." He patted the empty space next to him.

Fíli went and laid down in the spot next to him, though he kept his face hidden in his hands.

"Those were evil men, back there," Bilbo said. "And I am so sorry that you had to go through that. But it was because of them, not you, that all of this has happened. They could have taken any one of us, but they knew how scared your parents would be if they…" He took a breath as rage joined the ache in his chest. "If they took you. In all honesty, we should have been the ones to make sure that never happened to you in the first place."

"That's what mom and dad keep saying." Fíli took his hands away, though tears still streamed down his face. "But I wasn't tough. I was too scared to do anything."

"Can I let you in on a secret?"

Fíli dragged his sleeve across his face. "What?"

"We're all afraid. Every one of us. We all get scared when we come across walkers or people like the ones that attacked us. And that's perfectly normal."

He frowned. "Even Uncle Thorin?"

"Of course. Perhaps more so than the rest of us, because he has the need to take responsibility for every single thing that goes wrong." He sighed. "The point is, there is nothing wrong with being afraid. It doesn't make you a bad person. And we will all still love you, no matter what."

"Okay." Fíli's lip trembled, and he looked as if he wanted to start crying again. But some of the tension in his brow had loosened.

Bilbo smiled and reached over to brush his hair out of his face, careful of his bruise. "Why don't you go get some sleep, then?"

"What about you?"

"I think I'm going to just sleep right here." His smile faltered slightly. "I am just too tired to move."

Fíli pushed himself up and padded away. He returned a moment later with Thorin's coat, as well as Bofur's and Bombur's. The two brothers had both volunteered theirs to keep him warm despite his protests. He carefully laid them across so Bilbo was as covered as he could be. "'Night, Bilbo."

"Goodnight, Fíli," he said, blinking back his own tears at the sweet gesture. He watched him walk back to his spot and curl up next to Dís. Whatever happened tomorrow, he could rest easy knowing Fíli was at least somewhat at peace with what had happened.

A disturbing thought struck him. If he took a turn for the worse in the middle of the night and...and turned, would anyone notice? Would anyone be able to stop him before he attacked someone?

He frowned and shifted, wondering if he should ask someone on watch to keep an eye on him, but his energy was already fading. Before long, exhaustion had claimed him.

* * *

The glass was breaking.

Thorin swore under his breath and checked the room again, peering into drawers and boxes, but there was nothing that would help them escape. He nearly slipped on a loose pill bottle and kicked it under the desk with more force than necessary.

They'd been able to find the medicine for Bilbo, but it would be useless as long as they were stuck in this damn room with an army of walkers clamoring outside.

Nori stepped onto the desk and pushed up against one of the ceiling panels. The structure was too flimsy to hold their weight—escaping up there wasn't an option, but it seemed Nori had something else in mind. He slipped one of the panels down and held it up against the window in the door.

They waited for a minute, but the snarling on the other side didn't let up.

He sighed and shrugged. "You'd think they'd let up if they couldn't see us anymore, yeah?"

"I don't know. Maybe they can still smell us."

A sharp _crack_ echoed through the room, followed by the sound of grinding glass, and Nori jumped back as a grasping hand jabbed the ceiling panel.

The walkers widened the hole they'd just created, tearing their own rotting flesh on the jagged edges. Their growls became more pronounced, along with a nearly unbearable stench. Thorin was sure they hadn't smelled this bad when the outbreak had first started.

One of the walkers reached out blindly and its hand brushed against the doorknob, making it jiggle. Thorin leapt forward and jabbed his knife through the top of the walker's skull. It slumped against the window frame, the bodies behind it keeping it upright.

Nori drew his own knife. "Maybe we can pick them off one by one."

"There's too many." Thorin scanned the shifting crowd. Even if they did manage to take out the majority of the walkers from the window, the pile of bodies would still barricade them inside. They didn't have enough ammo to take them out from a distance, either.

"We need a distraction. Something to draw them away."

Thorin sent another fruitless glance around the room. There was nothing they could _use_. Despair was beginning to creep in, a slow trickle down his spine. The sun was already going down. If they didn't make it back to Bilbo in time…

Nori was laughing, lowly. It was a strange, crooked sound amidst the growls of the walkers. For all his sarcasm and quips, Thorin realized, Nori rarely laughed. He turned to find him sitting on one of the desks, legs dangling over the edge.

"Fucking Molotov cocktails…" The lines around his eyes hardened as he gazed out the window.

"Nori," Thorin said, glancing at the walkers straining against the door. This wasn't an ideal moment to talk about what had happened back at the warehouse. But then again, maybe it would be their only chance. "It wasn't your fault."

"I was trying to be a big shot, trying to show off. I wanted to light those bastards on fucking fire." His gaze fell to his hands. "If I'd been on the ground, things might have turned out differently."

"No," he said quietly. "It was me. I shot first."

That was the decision that haunted him the most, more than giving the warehouse up for Fíli. He'd agreed to the trade, but Dís had made the decision for him. She wouldn't have let him choose anything else.

But seeing Bilbo on the ground, weaponless and bleeding and in pain, had set off something feral and impulsive inside him. He'd snatched up his gun and killed the dog without a second thought. He'd been the one to instigate the firefight. If he hadn't...if he had chosen to let Bilbo die beneath that dog, then maybe there would have been a chance to get everyone back inside. Maybe, somehow, they could have kept the warehouse afterwards.

Maybe Dori would still be alive.

Nori pushed himself off the desk and readied his knife. "Well, only one of us needs to make it back, right? If I can push through that herd, I could lead them away. Might get bit in the process, but—"

"_No_." Thorin straightened, prepared to stop him if he tried to make for the door. "We're not making any more sacrifices. Both of us are making it out."

"Well, we don't always get to choose, do we?"

"Not always." He could feel a slight tremor in his hands. But if someone had to choose, it was going to be him. It had to be. "What is Ori going to think if I don't bring you back?"

Nori stood stiffly for a long moment, then slowly slid his knife back into its sheath. "Yeah, I guess I'd be kind of a selfish bastard if I decided to just off myself right now."

Thorin reached out and took hold of his arm, hoping the touch would help ground him somewhat. "Let's find a way out of here."

Nori shook himself slightly, then turned around. "Well, we haven't tried the window yet."

"We're three floors up." The best they could hope for was a twisted ankle, and even that was a death sentence with walkers around.

"Well, we don't have to go all the way down." He crossed the room and, with a sharp tug, pulled the curtain rod from above the window.

Thorin crossed his arms as Nori used his knife to begin cutting the curtain into strips. "You can't be serious."

"If I can climb down to the second floor, I can come back up and around and get the walkers away from the door." He glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Unless you have a better suggestion."

"How do you know that's going to hold?" Thorin asked as Nori began tying the fabric together.

"Because I tie good knots. These'll hold." He stood up, a familiar steely glint coming back into his eyes. "I want to get out of here, get back to the others. Not like I'm going to fall to my death and leave you stuck here."

"Fine."

They tied the makeshift rope around Nori's waist, with Thorin taking hold of the other end. He didn't want to risk tying it to any of the shelves that could come flying loose in an instant.

"Alright." Nori opened the window and swung one leg over the windowsill. "Don't get eaten while I'm gone, yeah?"

"Right," Thorin muttered. He had the scratchy fabric of the curtain wrapped multiple times around both hands.

Nori swung his other leg over and lowered himself so he was supported by his arms. "And don't drop me, okay?"

"Got it," he said, gritting his teeth as more of Nori's weight was added to the rope. He took a step forward (though it was more of a slide), lowering him down as gradually as he could. His hands had nearly gone numb by the time he was bracing himself against the wall. "Nori?"

"I'm just about there," he called back up. "No latch on the outside of the window, though. Hang on."

The rope shifted, and Thorin grunted as he strained to hold it up. His arms were definitely going to be sore the next day.

A gunshot sounded, followed immediately by the _crack_ of broken glass. The rope shifted a few more times as more glass shattered below.

"Alright," Nori said. "You can let go, now."

Thorin released his grip with a grunt of relief and peered over the windowsill. All he could see was the jagged hole in the window below, and the crystalline shards of glass on the ground below.

He stepped back and flexed his hands to get some feeling back into them. The walkers at the door were still clamoring to get in, incensed by the sound of the gunshot. He waited with his knife in hand, watching the doorknob carefully.

Nori could handle himself with the walkers. Thorin had given him the flashlight before he'd climbed down, since he obviously needed it more. But the man who had loosed the herd on them was still out there, lurking somewhere in the hospital. He was the real threat, the variable that wouldn't allow him to relax until the hospital was well out of sight.

Once, he would have refused to kill a downed, weaponless man. He would have never fired at someone fleeing from him.

At some point since the world had ended, he'd crossed a line trying to protect the others. But thinking back on everything they'd lost, it didn't matter any more. The line, whatever it was, if it even existed anymore, didn't matter as long as his family was safe.

A loud clanging sounded from the other end of the hall. As it continued, the walkers gradually began to turn towards the source of the noise and lumber away. Thorin picked up the ceiling panel from the floor and held it against what was left of the window, hoping it would encourage the walkers to pursue the noise instead.

Gradually, their growls died down, and Thorin lowered the panel. Only five were left scratching at the door, and he dispatched two of them with his knife. He opened the door and made quick work of the other three, and was sprinting down the hall before they'd even hit the ground.

The rest of the herd was staggering towards the doors from which they'd first been let out. Thorin veered towards the stairwell door. Nori was crouched down and waiting for him on the other side.

"I seriously hope those bedpans were clean," he said, standing up. "Let's go."

They sprinted downstairs and back to the front door. Thorin felt his pocket to make sure the pills were still safely stowed there, though he could hear them rattle with each step he took.

The sky was dark as they made their way across the parking lot. Thorin made a silent prayer that they wouldn't be too late as they raced for the woods.

* * *

His lungs were burning by the time they reached the camp. Exhaustion weighed on his limbs, and he almost didn't react soon enough as the barrel of a gun flashed in the shadows ahead.

Nori reached over and yanked him behind a tree. "It's just us," he called. "Put the damn gun down."

They stepped out from behind the tree in time to see Dwalin lowering his rifle. "Scared the shit out of me, running towards us like that."

"Sorry." He moved closer and clapped him on the shoulder. "Anything happen while we were gone?"

"Nah." It was still early in the morning, but the commotion had woken up a few members of the group.

"Uncle Thorin!" Kíli wriggled out from beneath Víli's arm and ran to meet him. "Did you get the medicine for Bilbo?" He peered into the bag slug over Nori's shoulder before Thorin could answer. "Hey, are those M&Ms?"

Thorin slipped the package out of the bag and handed it to him. "Share with your brother." Bilbo and Brana needed food the most, but Fíli and Kíli were still young—they needed to keep their strength up too.

Nori glanced down at the bag's contents. "Not a bad haul, all things considered. We should be able to divide—" He broke off as Ori hurried across the clearing and wrapped his arms around his chest. Blinking rapidly, Nori hesitated for a moment, then returned the embrace.

As Kíli went to go rouse his brother, Dwalin was already helping Óin to his feet, and Thorin remembered the reason he was out of breath in the first place. He slipped the pill bottles from his pocket and moved towards him. "Is this what you need?"

Óin took a handful of the bottles and checked the labels, then grunted in approval. "This is more than enough."

Thorin scanned the clearing and eventually found Bilbo, still asleep beneath his layer of coats. He took a moment to watch his chest rise and fall evenly, though there was still a disturbing pallor to his skin. "How is he?"

"No better than when you left, that's for sure." Óin took a moment to retrieve one of the empty bottles they'd filled with melted snow and walked over to Bilbo. Thorin followed, feeling strangely nervous.

It took a moment to wake Bilbo. When he returned to consciousness, his brow immediately furrowed in pain. He blinked rapidly, taking in the shadows still shrouding their campsite. "S-Something wrong?"

"Thorin just got back with your meds. Can you sit up?"

"Oh." Bilbo turned his head slightly, his glassy eyes finally landing on Thorin. His lips curved into a small smile. "You made it back."

"Yeah." Thorin knelt down and put an arm behind his shoulders, careful of his injury, and helped him sit up. His skin was feverish beneath his shirt, and left a patch of heat on Thorin's forearm.

Óin poured out a handful of pills from two different bottles and handed them to Bilbo along with the water. "Antibiotics and painkillers. You should be back on your feet in a couple days."

Bilbo dutifully swallowed the pills, though his movements were weak and sluggish. "Best breakfast I've ever had."

Óin snorted a laugh at that, and even Thorin found himself grinning. "We'd better get some food in you, too. I'll be back." He stood up and left. A few moments of silence ticked by.

"I was worried about you," Bilbo said softly.

He was leaning rather heavily against Thorin, probably not having the strength to sit up by himself, and Thorin shifted slightly so he would be more comfortable. Bilbo's head was resting against his chest now, and he wondered if he could feel the pounding of his heart. "I was worried about you, too."

"You saved my life again. Twice, actually. Just now, and back at the warehouse."

"I didn't realize we were keeping score."

Bilbo let out a short breath that might have been a laugh. "Remind me to buy you a drink sometime." He reached out with his good arm and grasped the black jacket spread over his legs. "You can have this back, by the way."

"Keep it. You need to stay warm."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." A hint of familiar exasperation entered his voice. "I can feel you shivering."

A slight smile grew on his face. "That's not me. You're the one who's shivering."

"Well, whatever. We can keep each other warm."

Just the suggestion made heat flare up his neck and pool in his stomach. Before he could respond, Óin returned with a package of trail mix and a candy bar.

"Never thought I'd say this, but I really wish we had some canned food right now." He knelt down and handed the packages to Bilbo. "But these'll have to do for now."

"R-Right. If you could help me over to that tree…"

They shifted him so that he was propped up against the trunk and rearranged the coats around him. Óin went to go check on Brana, but Thorin hovered there for a moment, unsure.

"Thank you, Thorin." Bilbo smiled at him, but there was an awkwardness in the expression, and his eyes quickly drifted towards the ground.

"Of course." He must have been slightly delirious from his fever. That was it. That was the only reason he'd said that. "Let me know if you need anything else." And he stepped away, heat still burning on his neck.

**I quite literally wrote myself into a corner by trapping Thorin and Nori in the hospital without having planned how they would get out, so their solution is kind of...silly. But then again, it's kind of in character because Nori is lowkey ridiculous and he would definitely come up with something like that.**


	22. Chapter 22

**Yeah, this is the chapter where Brana gives birth. I don't think I was graphic at all with it, but this is just a warning in case someone doesn't want to read about it.** **Chapter 22**

"We need to stay together."

Thorin knew his words would only reach half of the group, the half that was currently close enough to hear him. They were straggling along the highway at an infinitely slower pace than when it had just been him and Nori. Brana was near the back, being half-carried by Víli and Glóin. They were much too far away for his comfort, and he couldn't help but think that even a small herd of walkers approaching from the side would be able to cut their group in half, split them up and weaken them.

The people in front paused when he did and waited for the others to catch up. They were all barely standing, exhausted and starving as they were. Bilbo, at least, had mostly recovered from his infection, though he was still weak and slightly unsteady on his feet. Óin hovered nearby, ready to help him if he needed it.

Once they'd all caught up, Thorin signalled for them to begin moving again. Their best hope was to reach the town where they'd found the hospital, find what food they could, and take shelter until they were recovered. If they didn't make it that far—or if there was no food left—he didn't know what they would do then. He tried not to think about it.

Next to him, Fíli stumbled as his sneaker caught on a loose section of the pavement. He managed to right himself before he could fall, but Thorin reached out anyway to steady him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Fíli shoved his hands into his pockets. "Fine."

Thorin lowered his gaze, guilt and worry crawling through his gut. Every time he looked at Fíli, at the bruise on his face and his clouded gaze, he could feel the burn of his own failure. He should have been there, should have protected him when he needed it the most. And now, after the fallout of the warehouse, he still couldn't be there for him. He didn't know how.

"Fíli," he tried again. He put a hand on his shoulder and, when he didn't pull away, said, "We'll get there. We'll find another safe place."

"Okay," Fíli said, sounding wholeheartedly unconvinced.

Thorin drew back. He didn't know what else to say.

Dís passed by and shot him a half-grateful, half-sympathetic smile. At the very least, Fíli had his parents to support him.

He fell back further, glancing around to make sure everyone was able to keep up. Glóin, Brana, and Víli had fallen to the back again, and the latter was walking unsteadily, sweat clinging to his forehead despite the cold. Glóin looked about the same, but Thorin knew better than to ask her to let go of her wife.

"Take a break," he said, walking next to Víli. "I'll take over."

He grunted and shifted so Thorin could take Brana's arm. "Thanks."

Brana was sweating as well, her breathing shallow as she walked. According to Óin, the baby was due any day now. Thorin's worries about having an infant with them had abated once they'd set up in the warehouse, but in the past few days they'd come back full force.

"Okay." Brana stopped walking. "I'm sorry. I-I can't go any further."

"That's fine. That's okay." Glóin wrapped her arms around her and fixed Thorin with a pleading glance. "We can take another rest."

Thorin and Glóin helped her to the side of the road. At this rate, they would never reach the next town, but they had no other option.

Brana sat against a tree with a grunt, pain furrowing her brow. The rest of the group had stopped as well and began to gather around. "I mean...I'm not going to be able to make it. Not until…" She glanced down at her swollen belly.

Thorin frowned. "We need to get to shelter. We can't do this here." He glanced at the tree-filled landscape around them. They'd killed a couple of walkers a half-mile back, and there were almost certainly more out there.

"Believe me," Brana shot him a sardonic smile, followed by a wince. "If I could, I would wait."

"There should be a rest stop not too far ahead," Nori said, jerking his chin towards a curve in the road.

They'd checked it briefly on their way to the hospital, but the place had been completely cleared out. Half the building was charred from some mid-apocalyptic fire. But it was better than the middle of the woods.

"Alright." Bofur stepped forward, rubbing his hands together. "We could probably get a stretcher together, if a few people are willing to volunteer their coats."

They worked quickly, breaking off a couple branches at the appropriate length and tying a few coats around. It took half an hour after that to carry Brana to the rest stop, which was nestled in the trees on a side road off the main highway.

"How far is the hospital from here?" Óin asked once they'd checked the place for walkers.

Thorin glanced at Nori, who said, "An hour, maybe more."

"We should start gathering supplies."

"Shouldn't we wait until…" Thorin looked at Brana, who was sitting on a bench, breathing heavily. "After?"

"Giving birth can take hours," Óin said. "If this baby is coming today, or god forbid something goes wrong, we're going to need a hell of a lot more than we have right now."

"Fine." It didn't sit well with him, splitting up, but they were out of time, food, options—if there was a better way out of this, he couldn't see it.

Brana, Bilbo, Fíli, Kíli, Dís, Glóin, and Óin stayed behind, but the rest of the group lingered outside for a while, reluctant to leave. They were on the precipice of _something_ here, with the baby coming and the growing danger of their situation.

"Come on," Thorin said. "I want to be back before sunset."

All they could do for now was move forward.

* * *

"What are you looking for, exactly?"

Óin grunted and opened another cabinet. "Anything useful, really."

Bilbo made a face as Óin picked up a spatula and considered it. "What, are you going to take the baby out like a pizza?"

He swatted at him with the flat end, then tossed it aside. "Aren't you supposed to be resting?"

"I'm feeling alright for now." He'd been a little miffed when Thorin had told him to stay behind, but the walk here had taken a lot out of him. His shoulder ached too, and the cold wasn't helping.

"Well, go be judgemental somewhere else if you're not going to help. Doctor's orders."

"Alright, fine." Bilbo held up his hands in surrender and walked back into the main area of the rest stop. It was relatively small, just a dining area, a fast food place, and a bakery. Most of the right wall and part of the ceiling was blackened from some long-put out fire, and a chilly wind was whistling through a hole near the top.

Fíli and Kíli had found some small, cheap toys in the fast food place and were playing on the floor, Dís close by as usual. Bilbo smiled, glad to see Fíli's mood lifted for once. Brana and Glóin were sitting in a couple of lounge chairs, and the latter was glaring at the entry doors like they'd personally insulted her.

After a minute, she stood up. "Hey, D, you wanna come help me put something against the doors?"

"Sure." Dís straightened, and they went to move one of the tables.

Bilbo trailed after them. "Do you need any help?"

"Nah, you're still injured," Dís said, shooting him a slight smile. "Just take a break for now."

He shrugged (as best he could with his injury) and went to go sit next to Brana. Her eyes were screwed shut, and after a moment she relaxed and let out a shaky breath.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded. "Just contractions."

"Those are, uh, normal, right?"

"Yeah." She smiled, though it came off as more of a grimace. "I knew this part was going to be painful, but…" She sighed and wiped some sweat from her forehead. "And I know it's too late to back out now, I just wish this wasn't happening."

Bilbo frowned. "What do you mean?"

A tear fell down her cheek as she glanced around the rest stop, at the empty chairs and charred tiles. "I-It's not right. I don't want my child to grow up in _this_. It's not fair."

He clasped his hands together tightly. The way things were looking now, Brana's child would never go to school, would never watch cartoons on a Saturday morning or bike through the neighborhood to visit a friend. It would be growing up, really, in an entirely separate world.

"I-I haven't…" Brana put a hand on her stomach, right above the healing bullet wound. Tears were flowing freely down her face now. "I haven't felt it move since…"

"Oh." A chill fluttered down his spine, followed by another as a thought occurred to him. If the baby died and turned, would it try to—

He cut the thought off immediately. It was too horrible to consider.

"Look." Bilbo reached for her hand. "I'm sure it's going to be fine. We'll be right here. If—"

Brana cried out suddenly, grabbing onto the arm of the chair for support. Glóin was at her side in an instant.

"Is it the baby?"

"Yeah." She nodded, breathing hard. "I think it's time."

Dís rushed over and took her arm. "Let's get you on the floor."

Glóin shouted for her brother just as Fíli and Kíli arrived, their toys abandoned.

"Is she okay?" Kíli looked at Brana with wide eyes as Dís and Glóin lowered her to the floor.

"She'll be fine," Dís said, then shot a prompting glance at Bilbo.

"Right." He beckoned for the boys to follow him to the other end of the room.

"Is Auntie Brana okay?" Kíli tugged at his sleeve. "What's happening?"

"She's gonna have the baby now," Fíli said, looking much calmer than his brother.

"But why is she freaking out like that?" Kíli turned to Bilbo when Fíli only shrugged.

"Uh…" He directed them to sit down at one of the tables as he tried to think of an answer. Now that the world had ended, Kíli was never going to have any of those awkward sex-ed classes in school. "Well, giving birth is...rather painful. At least, that's what I've heard. But it'll be worth it in the end."

Kíli brightened at that. "So we're gonna get a new cousin today?"

"Yes." Bilbo jumped a little as Brana cried out again. _Hopefully_.

"That's what mom sounded like when she was having you," Fíli said, leaning his elbows on the table.

"So you were there?" Bilbo smiled, picturing a younger Fíli holding his baby brother for the first time. "That must have been very exciting."

"It was kinda boring." Fíli shrugged. "They made me wait outside, and they were only playing the news on the TV."

Bilbo's smile turned into a grimace. "Well, this could take quite a while. Maybe in the meantime we could—"

The three of them started as a heavy _thump _sounded. A walker had pressed itself against the doors, growling and smearing filth against the glass.

They watched it for a tense moment, but the doors held.

"Bilbo," Glóin called from where she was kneeling next to Brana. "You got that?"

"Right." He stood up, one hand resting on his knife. He still didn't have a gun—only Glóin, Óin, and Brana still had their arms.

Hopefully it would just be the one. They were in a pretty isolated area, far enough from the nearest town that there wouldn't be too many walkers around. One they could handle.

A half hour later, a second one appeared at the door.

Bilbo stepped forward. Next to him, Fíli and Kíli were sitting in tense silence, having stopped talking after they saw first walker. Dís, Glóin, and Óin were still gathered around Brana, her occasional cries and groans piercing the otherwise silent air of the rest stop.

"Stay here." With slow, cautious footsteps, Bilbo made his way over to the door. The walkers were little more than a nuisance at this point, and when the rest of the group returned, they would be able to dispatch them with ease.

Surely, there was nothing to worry about.

He hated not being able to _do_ anything, though. The walkers were no threat for now, nervous as they were making everyone, and opening the doors to kill them would only risk one of them making it inside, or him getting bit. He couldn't help Brana, and Fíli and Kíli were in no danger at the moment.

Bilbo began pacing, his steps only growing quicker as a third walker arrived, and then a fourth.

The sound of cracking glass was almost a relief from the monotony, but quickly after came the fear as he looked up and saw that two more walkers had arrived. The vertical crack in one of the doors grew wider, and Bilbo rushed forward to brace his hands against the table. Belatedly, he realized they should have gotten something stronger to barricade the door.

He flinched as a shard of glass as big as his head toppled from the door and onto the table. More pieces followed as the walkers broke through the door on the left. The first one fell across the table and grabbed for him.

Bilbo swore and drove his knife into the top of its skull. "Help!"

It took all of his strength to push back against the table as the crowd pressed against it. The walker standing behind the one he had killed reached for him, its fingers only inches away from his neck.

Dís appeared next to him, adding her weight against the table and jabbing her knife into the closest walker's head.

The second door burst open, and three more walkers tried to force their way through. Despite their best efforts, Bilbo felt his feet begin to slide along the tile as the walkers piled against the table.

"Hey, we need help over here!" Dís shouted. She swore as a walker snatched her wrist and tried to pull her closer.

Bilbo reached over and stabbed the walker's forearm, but the blow did nothing. Gritting her teeth, Dís tried to pull her arm back, but its grip was too strong.

"Mom!"

He spared a quick glance back to see Fíli running towards them, with Kíli not far behind. The terror in their eyes was heartbreaking.

A gunshot rang across the room, and Bilbo winced as cool liquid splattered across the side of his face. The walker holding Dís dropped onto the table, and she pulled her arm back with a gasp.

Glóin was walking towards them, and took aim at another walker. Bilbo turned to the door to see that three more had taken the place of the ones they'd killed.

The one reaching for him jerked to the side as Glóin shot it, and tumbled back onto the concrete outside. She raised her gun to fire at another one, but nothing happened.

"You've got to be _fucking_ kidding me." She checked the magazine, then slipped it back into her holster. "Alright." She ran to join Bilbo and Dís. "New plan. On the count of three, we lift this thing up from the bottom."

Dís looked at the boys, who were still hovering nearby. "Stay back, you two. We've got this." The two of them obediently took a step back, though Fíli was frowning deeply.

"One, two, _three_!"

They lifted the table so the flat end was pressed against the entrance, forcing the walkers back. Bilbo braced his shoulder against the table, grimacing at the amount of dried gum that was stuck to the bottom. The walkers snarled and pushed back, and it was all the three of them could do to keep the door blocked.

Despite their efforts, they were losing ground. Bilbo couldn't see anything on the other side of the table, but the snarls were almost deafening. The table was being held up almost entirely by the opposing forces on either side, but if it fell, the walkers would be on top of them in an instant.

There were spots of blood dripping off the table from the walkers they'd already killed, and Bilbo cursed as his foot slipped through one and nearly sent him toppling to the floor. Dís held a bracing hand on his arm until he'd regained his balance, and all three of them cried out as the table shifted another inch in their direction.

"Óin!" Glóin barked, then cursed under her breath. "We need you!"

He looked up from where he was still kneeling beside Brana, hesitated, then pushed himself up and rushed to help them.

The four of them together managed to push back against the walkers. How long that would last, Bilbo didn't know—they would eventually get tired, but the walkers wouldn't. Fíli and Kíli had rushed over to Brana, though there wasn't much they could do for her.

Where was the rest of their group?

The din of the walkers outside was so loud, Bilbo didn't realize they'd found another way in until a light appeared at the other end of the room. Part of the wall, weakened by the fire, crumbled easily as a walker pushed its way through. It stumbled over the blackened remains of brick and plaster, then made its way towards them.

"Shit—_shit_." Bilbo nudged Dís's arm to get her attention, and her eyes widened as she followed his gaze.

"Óin!" She turned to the other end of the makeshift barrier. "Shoot them!"

He reached for the gun in his pocket, but a walker reached around the table and grabbed his arm.

"No!" Glóin reached across her brother, trying to pry him free.

Bilbo turned back to the walker, which was nearly upon them. Another two had followed it through the gap in the wall. He swallowed hard and gripped his knife. At least it would be them first, not the boys, not Brana—

A bullet cracked across the room and struck it in the shoulder, throwing it off balance. He looked across the table, but Óin was still struggling to free himself from the walker.

Another shot tore through the walker's head before it could regain its balance. Bilbo scanned the room, breathing hard, and his eyes widened as they landed on Fíli.

He was standing between Kíli and Brana and the walkers, his brow furrowed in concentration as he aimed Brana's gun at the next walker.

This time, Fíli's aim was a little better, and the second walker keeled over to join the first. Fíli took a step forward. He was shaking, but he steadied himself and shot down the third.

Óin had finally gotten his arm free, but there was no need for his gun now. Dís was staring at her son with wide eyes. Bilbo saw fear and panic there, but also a little bit of pride.

"Okay," Glóin said, panting. "Let's just finish these motherfuckers off. Fíli, you're gonna cover us, yeah?"

Fíli blinked and straightened. "Y-Yeah."

"On my mark, we're dropping the table." Glóin glanced around for confirmation, and received a trio of nods.

Bilbo tightened his grip on his knife and took a deep breath.

"Now!"

The four of them dropped the table and leapt back as the walkers shoved their way through the door. The ones in front tripped over the table as it fell, and Bilbo took the opportunity to jump forward and stab it in the head. The one behind it lunged for him, but Fíli shot it in the head.

The walkers stumbled around the table, but with two guns and three knives between them, they were able to take them all out in a few minutes.

Glóin jammed her knife up through the jaw of the last walker, then kicked it down to join the others. They stood amidst rotting bodies, breathing hard.

Silence.

Bilbo put his hands on his knees, dizzy from leftover adrenaline. Though he hadn't thought about it in a long time, he wished for his armchair, and a hot cup of tea to go with it, and just a minute to get a damn _break_ from all of this.

Kíli's voice broke the silence, sounding fearful. "Mom?"

And time seemed to lurch into motion again. Glóin ran across the room, nearly slipping on walker blood. Bilbo followed the others as they gathered around Brana.

The first thing he realized, with a rush of relief, was that she was not dead. She was breathing heavily, her shirt soaked through with sweat, her eyes slightly glazed as she looked around.

Kíli was squatting next to her, but he was looking at the floor beneath her legs with an expression of mingled disgust, curiosity, and concern.

Glóin fell to her knees, hastily wiping her hands on her jeans, then bent to pick something up off the floor. It was flesh-colored, damp with various fluids, and it wasn't moving.

She cradled it to her chest. "Hey, come on." She began rubbing its chest gently, in small circles. "Come on, _please_."

Dís let out a ragged breath and grabbed Bilbo's hand. The walker blood was sticky between their palms, but he squeezed her hand back anyway.

Brana moved her lips soundlessly for a moment, her head rocking slightly as though she didn't have the energy to raise it. "Tell me…"

And then a high, clear noise broke through the silence. It was a cry—the baby in Glóin's arm was crying.

Bilbo let out a shaky laugh. He would have never expected that noise to sound so wonderful.

"Come on, let's get you up." Óin hurried to cover Brana up, then pushed a chair over so she could lean against it.

"Here." Fíli slipped off his sweater and offered it to Glóin, who used the fabric to wrap up the baby.

Once Brana was situated, Glóin knelt next to her and handed her the bundle. "It's a boy, babe. You did it."

Brana's eyes began to fill with tears again as she smiled down at her baby. "He's so beautiful."

Dís sniffled, and Bilbo looked over to see her wipe away her own happy tears, smearing blood across her face. He glanced back at the carnage at the front door, but it seemed they were safe for now.

The baby's cries gradually quieted down, and he relaxed into Brana's arms with a small sigh. Glóin sat down and put her arms around them both.

Kíli crouched on Brana's other side, peering curiously at the baby. "Do you know his name yet?"

Brana glanced at Glóin, who smiled back at her and nodded. "Gimli. His name is Gimli."

* * *

The winter breeze carried with it the smell of rot, and Thorin knew instantly that something was wrong. The scent only grew stronger as the group reached the road leading to the rest stop. He threw down his pack, the cans inside rattling, and sprinted up the hill towards the building.

The glass doors were completely shattered, and a mess of corpses was piled just beyond. Thorin stepped across the threshold, his gun at the ready, and froze.

The others were gathered in one of the seating areas, talking quietly and smiling at the bundle cradled in Brana's arms. At the sound of Thorin's footsteps, they all turned to look at him.

"Well, look who finally decided to show up," Bilbo said, though there was more humor than anything in his tone.

A quick headcount informed him that everyone was still alive—they'd actually gained a person, counting the newborn. Thorin's stomach dropped at the thought, igniting the anxiety still running through his veins. Brana had gone into labor _and_ they'd been attacked by a herd while he and the others had been gone.

"No one's on watch," he said. "I could have come in and shot one of you just now, and none of you would have been prepared."

Most of the group averted their eyes. The smile slid from Bilbo's face. Before anyone could say anything else, the others came through the door.

"The fuck happened here?" Dwalin looked around at the mess, nudging aside the table near the entrance.

Víli rushed through and made a beeline for Dís. "Is everyone okay? What happened?"

Dís threw her arms around his neck. "We're fine. Better than fine, actually."

Kíli joined the two of them, bouncing on his toes. "Dad! Fíli shot a gun. And also we have a baby now."

A collective murmur of excitement rose from the others, and they crowded around Brana to get a better look.

Thorin suppressed a sigh and headed back to the front door. Part of the burned wall had been torn away—probably by walkers, if the trail of bodies leading away from the opening was any indication.

They would either need to find something to block the hole, or have another person stand guard. This was far from the ideal place to spend the night, especially now that the baby was here, but at least they'd brought a good haul from their run.

It made him nervous, though, that so many walkers had gathered in a relatively unpopulated area like this one. He knew from a few nights of babysitting his nephews when they were younger that babies could cry loudly, and for a long time. When they ended up on the road again, any noise that attracted that many walkers could prove fatal.

A nudge on his arm broke him from his thoughts. Dís had moved up beside him, and she held out her hand.

"I'll take over, here. Go say hi to the new kid."

Reluctantly, he handed over his gun and walked back inside. Bifur and his cousins were sorting through the supplies they'd brought. Kíli was describing rather animatedly to his father what had happened while he'd been gone, and kept gesturing to the bodies over by the gap in the wall. The others were gathered around Brana, Glóin, and their baby.

"Gimli, eh?" Balin lowered himself into one of the chairs nearby. "That's a good name."

Brana looked up at Fíli, who was hovering nearby. "Do you want to hold him?"

"Uh." He shifted his weight, and Thorin realized he was still holding a gun in one hand. "Yeah, sure." He put the gun in Glóin's outstretched hand and knelt down.

"Make sure to support his head, okay?"

"Okay." Fíli reached out and gathered the baby in his arms. The baby gurgled and stretched a stubby arm out towards his face, and Fíli smiled.

It was like a shaft of warm sunlight. Thorin couldn't remember the last time Fíli had genuinely smiled since they'd lost the warehouse.

Something loosened in his chest, and he stepped forward to join his family.

**I just realize how often I write inner monologues of Thorin stressing about the group's safety. I should really make an abridged version of this fic called "The New World but it's only Thorin's anxiety attacks."**


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Thorin reached up to rub at his brow as another high-pitched wail cut through the room.

It was nighttime, but he doubted anyone was actually sleeping. Gimli had been crying on and off for the past few days, but it was frequent enough to feel non-stop. They'd already killed five walkers attracted by the noise in the past day, and that alone was enough to keep Thorin up at night.

He'd laid out the majority of their weapons on one of the tables, and the familiar act of cleaning the guns was enough to calm his nerves somewhat. Besides the ten guns they'd managed to keep from the warehouse, they'd found another five on their run, including an assault rifle taken from the body of a soldier.

Across the room, Bofur stood up and said something to Brana, though Gimli was crying too loudly for him to hear the exchange. He watched Bofur bend down to pick up Gimli and begin rocking him slightly. Miraculously, he calmed down after a few minutes.

"I didn't know you were good with kids," Thorin said as Bofur moved closer to him.

"Well, I was a guidance counselor for a while. Don't know if that helps, but it's kind of the same thing." He shrugged.

Though Gimli had quieted down, he wasn't asleep yet. One stubby arm had managed to worm its way out from under the blanket, and was reaching for Bofur's chin.

"What's that, little guy?" Bofur looked down, then grinned as Gimli tried to grab his mustache. "You like that, huh? You want a mustache of your own someday? Get a big, fluffy beard like Uncle Balin?"

Thorin smiled slightly. There had never been any doubt that Bofur would make a good father, if he ever decided to have children of his own.

"What's all this?" Bofur stepped closer and looked around at the weapons spread out on the table.

"Just taking inventory." They'd taken stock of their food the first day, and indulged themselves after days of eating little to nothing. It had been a strange potluck of cold beans, canned peaches, and a handful of chocolate bars, but everyone had smiled like they'd been served a five-course meal.

What they had left would last a few days if they rationed it properly. "We could make another run soon," Thorin said. "But as soon as Brana's recovered, I want to be on the road again."

"Just hopping from town to town, huh?" Bofur resumed rocking Gimli, and glanced at Thorin out of the corner of his eye. "Or are we still looking for a place to settle?"

"We need to find somewhere fortified, easily defensible."

"Didn't Nori mention something about a prison a while back?"

"That could work, yeah." Thorin glanced at the assault rifle. "Or a military base."

"I'll bet there are probably a dozen rich people somewhere out there, buried in some underground bunker with hot tubs and champagne." Bofur snorted, making his mustache flutter. "They probably have no idea how bad it's gotten out here."

"Hm." He continued to stare at the rifle. Finding it had tickled something at the back of his mind, an idea he'd considered and dismissed a handful of times since the world had ended.

There was one military base he was familiar with, but it was still miles away from where they were now. He also had no idea if they'd be able to get inside, if it was overrun with walkers, or if it had even survived the chaos of the apocalypse.

"Still wish we could have gone for the coast," Bofur continued. "If we'd found a boat, we could be relaxing on some tropical island right now. Eating fresh pineapple instead of canned." He glanced down at Gimli. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Keep dreaming, Bofur." Thorin turned his gaze away from the table. Whatever they decided to do, it was a long ways off. "I'm going to get some rest. Try and keep the kid quiet, alright?"

* * *

Another brutal gust swept over the road, and everyone shivered.

They had no shelter from the elements here—the forest had given way to empty fields, and it had been that way for miles. The sun was setting now, and the temperature had dropped even further. But Thorin had consulted the map in the last town, and this was the most direct route to the next one.

"Fuck," Dís said, blowing into her cupped hands. "We need to light a fire tonight. I feel like I'm frozen stiff."

Thorin glanced around. It seemed everyone else was faring about the same. Gimli was wrapped in so many blankets and scarves he looked twice his size. Fortunately, he was sleeping peacefully in Glóin's arms, having been fed about an hour ago.

"Maybe we'll find a barn or something along the way," Óin said. "That would help with the wind, at least."

"If we light a fire, we'll have to keep a close watch," Thorin said, looking around. They were lucky it hadn't snowed heavily, but the flat land was covered in a thin layer of frost. "The fire will be visible for miles."

An hour later, they came to the next sign of civilization. Óin chuckled and pointed. "See? What'd I tell you?"

They'd come across another wooded area. The road branched off through the trees, and right next to the fork was a sign that read, _Carrock Farms_.

"Maybe I should pick up fortune telling again."

"You found a farm in the middle of rural Rhovanion," Glóin said, keeping her voice low so as to not wake Gimli. "Let's get you a crystal ball to go with that."

Thorin motioned for them to head towards the farm, scanning the trees for walkers. They followed the road for a short distance, and a gated fence came into view. There were a series of strange round shapes set at intervals on the fence, but Thorin couldn't make out what they were.

"Jesus," Dís hissed. "Are those…?"

He realized the shapes were moving, and a second later, a familiar stench hit his nose.

They were walker heads, set on wooden rods tied to the fenceposts. They snarled and moved their jaws uselessly as the group approached.

"That's messed up," Bofur commented as they stopped at the gate.

Unease prickled at the back of Thorin's neck. Someone had put the heads there deliberately, and it probably wasn't to welcome newcomers.

His instincts told him to move on, but there was no telling if they'd be able to find another place to take shelter before sundown. He didn't know if the group could handle another night in the cold, and they were running low on supplies besides.

"We got company," Nori said, and everyone stiffened.

Beyond the gate, about fifty yards away, stood a large farmhouse, and a tall man was striding towards them. He had a shotgun in one hand, but made no move to raise it.

"Circle up," Thorin said, and the group reacted immediately, pushing Brana and the kids to the center and scanning the woods on either side of the road. He waited, one hand on his gun, as the man drew closer. He knew it would probably be best to retreat, but a part of him wanted to see what the man had to say, to try and gain some insight on the place.

As the man approached the fence, Thorin realized he was even larger than he'd seemed at a distance, probably close to seven feet tall. His face was weathered, his beard unkempt and streaked with gray.

A pair of flint-dark eyes surveyed their group. "What are you all doing here?"

"We were just passing through." Thorin's eyes flickered to one of the walker heads. "We didn't know anyone lived here."

"Someone does," the man replied.

The two words were telling enough. The man had come alone to ward off a group of seventeen—he most likely lived by himself.

"This farm isn't open to strangers," the man continued, and lifted his rifle an inch. Bifur let out a low growl. "I suggest you move on."

Thorin's pulse began to pound in his ears. This man had supplies—he had to—and a house where they could take shelter. He couldn't let his family freeze to death.

He couldn't let this man threaten them with a rifle.

His hand closed around his gun.

A sudden grip wrapped around his wrist. Thorin looked down and saw Bilbo's hand, holding on almost tightly enough to be painful. His gaze was still focused on the stranger, but he gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

He turned back to the tall man and waited, but he only watched them with dark, tired eyes. After a long moment, Thorin released his gun, and Bilbo let go.

"We don't want any trouble. We'll be on our way."

The man nodded stiffly, and continued to watch them as they turned to go. Once they'd reached the main road, Thorin saw him walk back towards the house.

"Fucking psycho." Dís shoved her hands in her pockets, then glanced up at Thorin. "I guess we're camping out tonight?"

"We'll find a spot in the woods." Thorin motioned for them to start moving again. "We can light a _small_ fire."

They came across a relatively dry clearing out of sight of the road and settled down for the night. Thorin went to collect kindling for their fire, and looked up as Bilbo appeared next to him.

"I saw what you were going to do, back there," he said lowly.

Thorin stood and met his gaze. "We need food, shelter. That man had it. And he was threatening us."

"He was protecting his home, doing what any person would." The look Bilbo was giving him, a mixture of concern and disappointment, made shame burn against the back of his neck. "We can't just kill him because of that."

"You seemed fine with it when we took the warehouse."

Bilbo flushed. "Well, for starters, that man had a gun to my head. Not that I entirely agree with what you did, but there was no point in bringing it up after the fact." He took a deep breath. "But we can't go killing innocent people for supplies. If we start doing that, we're no better than Azog and his group."

Thorin flinched at that. It wasn't the same. He had no intention of murdering others to satisfy his own greed. All he wanted was to keep his family safe.

"We'll figure it out. We've made it this far." Bilbo moved closer and gripped his arms. "You're better than that. I know you are. Just promise me you'll remember that."

A lump grew in his throat. He never wanted Bilbo to look at him like that again. "Alright. I hear you."

"Good." Bilbo relaxed and stepped back. He searched his face for a moment longer, then walked past him to help gather firewood.

* * *

Gimli was crying again.

Brana had tried changing him (and then again an hour later) to no effect, and he was refusing to eat as well. At least half of the group had taken turns holding him in an attempt to soothe him, but nothing seemed to be working.

This left them in the very early hours of the morning, slumped against various trees and caught in the gray area between sleep and wakefulness.

Ori, who was on watch, turned and shot an anxious glance at Gimli. "There's a walker heading towards us."

"I'll take care of it," Glóin grumbled, standing up from her spot next to Brana. She drew her knife and headed into the woods.

Thorin massaged his forehead and glared at the muddy twigs next to his boots. This wasn't the first sleepless night they'd had out here, and it was making everyone both restless and careless. The last thing they needed was for something to go wrong because they were all too sleep-deprived to notice it.

Apparently one of those moments was coming now. Glóin rushed into the clearing, clutching her knife. "There's a herd coming."

The camp awake in an instant. Everyone stood, gathering supplies and checking their weapons. Kíli looked at his mother with wide eyes. Nori drew his knife and stepped closer to Ori.

"What do we do?" Bofur asked, and Thorin realized everyone had turned to look at him.

They couldn't run. Gimli's crying was a beacon that would guide the walkers after them, and in their exhausted state, they'd be overrun before they could find a safe place. Briefly, his thoughts turned to the farm, but there were too many risks involved with putting his family between a herd of walkers and a man with a shotgun who knew they were nearby.

"We'll need to make a stand," Thorin said. He took a couple steps forward, looking around the clearing. "This seems like as good a place as any."

The group began to rouse from their temporary shock, drawing knives and loading guns.

"We'll circle up, take out as many of those bastards as we can." And if they were lucky, some of them would live to see the morning.

Except for Gimli's crying, it was mostly silent as everyone shuffled into place. Brana, Gimli, Fíli, and Kíli were ushered into the middle with their supplies, while the others formed a semicircle around them.

Now, he could see a series of shuffling shapes moving through the trees. Thorin could count at least a dozen, but it was hard to tell how many there really were in the dimness of the forest.

"Don't fire until you know you have a clear shot." He checked the safety on his handgun. "And don't let them get close."

The crunch of dead twigs and scuffling dirt became audible beneath the wailing echoing through the forest. A walker stumbled out from behind a tree close by, and Thorin shot it in the head. Soon, the air was peppered with gunshots, and more walkers fell by the second.

But there were always two more to take the place of each one that fell. They swarmed towards them, and soon the space in between the trees was filled with rotting bodies.

"How many of these sons of bitches are there?" Dwalin growled.

"Just keep them at a distance." Thorin retreated briefly to grab more ammo, then continued firing. If they didn't run out of bullets, maybe they would be able to take out the herd without getting their hands dirty.

"They're coming from behind!"

Thorin swore and glanced over his shoulder. There were three walkers headed towards the open end of their semicircle.

Fíli leapt to his feet and fired at the closest one. He stood between Kíli and Brana and took out a second. "I got it!"

Pride swelling in his chest, Thorin turned back to the rest of the herd. Next to him, Nori slipped away to grab more ammo, and returned a second later.

"We're out. Whatever's left is in the guns."

"Shit." Sure enough, the sound of gunfire began to fade. The walkers were piled on the damp ground before them, filling the air with a rotting stench. And more were coming.

"Spread out," Thorin said, gesturing for the group to follow his orders. They would need room to move once they engaged the walkers with their knives. "But don't let them break the line."

They waited, breathing hard, as the walkers advanced. When they were nearly upon them, when the smell of their rot became nearly unbearable and Thorin could see the cloudy gray of their eyes, he stepped forward and jammed his knife into the eye of the nearest walker. With a roar, Dwalin brought his axe down, nearly cleaving another walker's skull in two.

The others joined in with a cry, and the air was filled with the slick sound of slicing flesh and the wet sound of blood and bodies hitting the dirt.

Nori stumbled back as a walker fell onto him. Thorin finished slashing another's face and grabbed its shoulders, heaving it off of him. A pair of cold hands gripped his shoulder, but Dwalin's axe slammed into its skull a moment later.

The walkers pressed against the line. Their snarls were loud enough now to nearly overpower Gimli's cries. They were packed so tightly between the trees they could hardly move anything besides their grasping limbs.

"Move back!" Thorin shouted. "Keep them separated!"

His arms ached. He didn't know how long it had been since the walkers had attacked,, only that they were relentless, and the group left a rotting layer of bodies behind with each step they ceded. His knife and most of his arm were slick with viscous blood. Nori and Dwalin were close by, and as far as he could tell, their line hadn't broken, but the others, covered in dirt and grime and wreathed in exhaustion, were nearly indistinguishable from the walkers.

Light glinted from Nori's knife as he yanked it from a walker's skull. _Sunlight_. Thorin glanced up and saw the barest hint of white dawn glimmering through the trees. It was so close—the new day was theirs for the taking.

"Come on!" he cried, and they surged forward against the herd. Thorin impaled a walker, pulled out his knife, and in the same motion cut another down. Each new surge of adrenaline was like a bolt of lightning, flashing along with his blade as he and his family crashed like a tide against the army of the dead.

He nearly stumbled as he killed another walker, turned to find his next target, and saw nothing. Nearby, Dwalin turned in a full circle, his axe poised like a baseball bat.

And the woods fell silent.

"Is...Is that it?" Bofur wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing blood along his skin.

The walkers covered the ground like a carpet of fallen leaves. Thorin scanned the forest once, then again, but only the living were moving.

Panting, Dís wrapped one arm around Víli's neck, and the two of them staggered towards their sons.

Fíli was standing next to Kíli and Brana, his gun still clasped in both hands. He was scanning the trees too, and after a moment, he looked up at his parents. "Did we do it?"

Brana looked down at the bundle in her arms. Gimli was fast asleep, his tiny chest rising and falling as though he'd been listening to a lullaby instead of a battle against the undead. She looked up at the others with a slight grimace. "Fucking brilliant timing, huh?"

Thorin did a quick headcount, and his shoulders slumped with relief once everyone was accounted for. "Anyone hurt?" He received an exhausted chorus of "no's" in response.

Nori slung one arm around his brother's shoulder. "You know, I'm thinking we get some kind of spiky metal ball, stick it on the end of your stump, and then the walkers will _really_ have to watch out, eh?"

Ori smiled and flicked a piece of viscera off Nori's arm. "Only if I can change it out for other things. I want a spoon attachment, too."

And the trees echoed with giddy, exhausted laughter.

* * *

Heavy footsteps jolted Bilbo out of his doze. Half of the group was already standing, watching the newcomer approach.

Blinking sleep from his eyes, Bilbo stood up and peered around the tree he'd been leaning against. It was the tall farmer from before. The shotgun was tucked under his arm, but he kept it pointed at the ground as he drew closer.

"That's far enough." Thorin stepped forward, one hand on his gun. It was empty, but the stranger didn't know that. "What do you want?"

"I'm not here to hurt you." The man had a gravelly voice, more of a growl than anything. "I want to make you an offer."

Half the group stiffened at that. The last time they'd been forced to make a deal with someone, it hadn't ended well. Nori drew his knife and looked around, eyes examining each shadowed branch and thick trunk. Dís stepped closer to her sons.

"Yesterday you wanted nothing to do with us." Thorin remained still, but Bilbo could see his eyes darting about, searching for unseen threats. "What changed?"

"It's been a long time since I've seen any living in these parts," the man said. He looked tired and...a bit sad, too. He looked like them, Bilbo realized. "I live alone on my farm. But I need more people to work it, keep it safe. It wouldn't be much, but you would have food and shelter."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. Now, there was an option. A farm would provide them with enough food for—for the rest of their lives, barring any sort of disaster. It seemed almost too good to be true.

The others seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Thorin narrowed his eyes and asked, "Why? How do you know you can trust us?" And at the end of the question was an unspoken reversal.

"You could have killed me, taken my land when we first met. You didn't." He looked around at the walker bodies littering the ground. "This herd would have torn down my farm. You killed them all."

"We did you a favor, then," Thorin said coldly.

He continued, unflinchingly. "I know what this world has unleashed. People take what they want, what they think they deserve." The stranger lifted his chin. He had a sort of quiet dignity about him that made Bilbo instantly respect him. "I would offer this to you freely. Whatever this world has become, I will not let children go hungry when I can help them."

The clearing fell silent. With a quick glance around, Bilbo could see some of the group were considering the man's words, while others had glares firmly fixed on their faces.

"You have food, you said?" Bofur said. "I haven't seen any crops in the area, seeing as it's, uh, winter."

It was a valid point, bluntly put in Bofur's usual manner. Everyone turned to look at the stranger again.

"I have plenty in my stores, more than one person could eat." A slight smile appeared on his face. "Everything is powered by solar energy. I have a working fridge, and—"

"Running water?" Brana asked.

The man nodded.

The atmosphere lightened a bit. Bilbo sighed. What he wouldn't give to take a shower, even a cold one.

Thorin glanced back at the group, and after a moment, Bilbo realized he was looking at _him_. He held his gaze for a moment, then gave a slight nod. Whatever this was, they needed to at least see for themselves.

Thorin turned back to the man. "We're taking your gun. You'll lead the way back."

"Alright." He held out his shotgun by the barrel. As Thorin stepped forward to take it, Bilbo realized just how tall he was, standing nearly a foot above than Thorin, who was by no means of average height himself.

He turned and led them with long strides through the forest and back towards the road. It was a while before the ground turned from twisted, rotting limbs to damp soil and flattened leaves. Bilbo hadn't realized how many walkers they'd killed in the chaos of the previous night. His arms ached from swinging his knife, and he was covered up to his elbows in viscera. He thought longingly about a nice, long shower.

They passed by the sign and walked down the road towards the entrance. The man unlatched the gate and pushed it open, ignoring the growling figures on either side.

"Uh." Bofur pointed at the fence as they began filing through. "What's the deal with the walker heads?"

The man waited until they'd all gone through, then pushed the gate closed. "The heads seem to keep the biters away. It might be the smell, I'm not sure. Tends to keep the living away as well."

The farmhouse was a decent size, with two stories and a wraparound porch. To the left, a small fence around a garden was visible, and Bilbo made a mental note to ask their host what sort of things he liked to grow. To the right was a cluster of fruit trees, though he didn't know which kind, as well as a strange cluster of multicolored boxes stacked on top of one another. Beyond the house were a number of larger buildings that he supposed made up the rest of the farm.

As they neared the porch, the screen door burst open and a large, gray, fluffy dog shot across the yard, barking loudly. Fíli flinched and immediately stepped closer to Dís. Bilbo tensed up as well, and raised one hand unconsciously to rub at his shoulder.

The man stepped forward before the dog could reach them and let out a sharp growl. The dog skidded to a stop and sat down, looking up at him attentively.

"This is Grim," he said, reaching down to scratch the dog behind its ears. "He won't bite."

Nonetheless, Fíli gave the dog a wide berth as they began walking towards the house. Bilbo couldn't shake his nerves either, though Grim only wagged his tail and trotted at the man's side as he stepped inside.

The inside was cozily furnished, paneled in light brown wood that gave it a rather rustic feel. To the right was a living room, which had a couple of sofas and a television with a thick layer of dust. And on the far wall…

"Is that a bear?" Kíli asked loudly, ducking out from under Víli's arm and pointing at the massive pelt nailed to the wall.

The man grunted an affirmation. "Wandered onto the property one day, went after my horses. Now it keeps the house a little warmer when it gets drafty."

A few people exchanged glances at that. But seeing how bloodstained and grimy they were themselves, Bilbo didn't think it was really their place to judge.

"You'll stay here while we check the rest of the house," Thorin said to the man.

He turned around and regarded him for a long moment, and Bilbo wondered briefly if he was going to argue. But he only said, "I'll be on the porch," and made for the front door.

Thorin wasted no time in sending small groups of people to various parts of the house, and a few out to the other buildings. Nearly everyone had their hands on or near their knives as they left.

Bilbo hesitated for a moment, then followed the man as he stepped back outside. "Excuse me?"

Dwalin caught the screen door before it could swing shut and gave him a questioning glance. Bilbo nodded slightly in response. _I'll be fine_. Dwalin let the door close, but made no move to walk away.

Bilbo turned back to the man, who was waiting for him to speak. "Well, first of all, I wanted to thank you for inviting us here. That can't have been easy."

The man only nodded, but it was more of an acknowledgement than an agreement.

He cleared his throat. "And I also realized none of us even know your name. And you don't know ours, I suppose."

"My name is Beorn." Some of the lines on his face relaxed, making him look a bit younger. "I suppose you'll have to introduce me to the rest of your group."

**Yeah, this chapter was inspired by 6x09. I hope I did it at least some justice, I had a pretty hard time with the fight scene. I'm interested as to what you all think of this chapter, since there were quite a few important character decisions in this one.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

"I think this has gone bad. It's got mold all over it, see?"

"Maybe it's supposed to be like that. A little mold never hurt anyone, right Kíli?"

Bilbo stepped into the pantry to find Nori and Balin nosing through the pantry. Kíli was kneeling on the floor, going through one of the cabinets. Bilbo put his hands on his hips and looked at Nori. "What are you all doing?"

"Well, Thorin said to check the house, right?" Nori opened the fridge and peered inside. "Let me know if you find any booze, by the way."

Bilbo crossed his arms and shook his head. Thorin and a few others had gone out with Beorn to help with some work that needed to be done on the farm. A few others had gone upstairs to check out the bedrooms. Bilbo was currently waiting for Óin to be done with the shower, though he'd scrubbed the worst of the blood from his hands in one of the sinks. He hadn't ever thought he'd be so amazed at the sight of running water.

Balin held out a package of half-unwrapped cheese. "Do you know if this is still good?"

Bilbo took a sniff and made a face. "No, that should probably be thrown out." He glanced past Balin's shoulder at the rest of the pantry, and couldn't help but stare. It was more food than he'd seen in a very long time. The fridge was stacked with pears and squash and wrapped meats and bottles of milk. There were jars of peanut butter, a rack of spices, and dozens more bottles and bags in the pantry.

His stomach gave an involuntary grumble.

"Bilbo look!" Kíli held up a bag of trail mix. "Can I have some?"

"Well," he smiled slightly, "Beorn did say we could help ourselves to the food. I was thinking we could cook a nice meal today, as a thank you for all this. It could be a sort of housewarming celebration."

Balin nodded. "That sounds like a great idea."

Nori looked unconvinced, but shrugged. "Maybe he'll tell us where the booze is."

"Alright." Bilbo rubbed his hands together. "Let's see what we can make. I'm sure we can throw a few things together before the others get back."

"Are we talking about cooking in here?" Brana stuck her head through the doorway. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and she looked cleaner and more relaxed, though dark circles still hung beneath her eyes.

"Do you want to help? We could use an extra pair of hands here."

"More than that. I'm not helping unless you put me on microwave duty." Nori unnecessarily vaulted over one of the kitchen chairs and headed for the doorway. "I'm gonna go check out the basement."

"Holy shit, that is a lot of food." Brana walked into the room. "Do they have any pasta?"

"I think I saw some earlier." Balin began digging through the pantry again.

Bilbo went to see what cooking utensils were at their disposal. There were a number of pots and pans in the cabinet by the oven. He took out a frying pan, examining the shiny black surface.

In a way, it almost didn't feel real. They'd been on the road for so long, cold and bleeding and afraid, that it felt more like a dream than anything to be invited into a house with running water and a full pantry. It was like he'd only woken up from a long nightmare, to find himself back in his apartment.

He was a little afraid that if he embraced this fantasy, it would hurt all the more when it was torn away.

A hand landed on his shoulder. "I think we're going to need a pot if we're making pasta," Balin said. He smiled at Bilbo, though there was an undercurrent of concern in his expression.

"Oh. Right." Bilbo put the pan back and grabbed the appropriate container. For now, all they could do was make the best of what they had. "So, what else are we making?"

The kitchen became warmer and cheerier as they worked. Víli walked in and asked if he could help, and was promptly put on dishwasher duty. Kíli watched them work from his perch on the kitchen counter, munching away on his trail mix (until Dís came in and confiscated it before he could ruin his appetite). Soon, they had a steaming bowl of pasta with tomato sauce and garlic, a meat pie in the oven, and a pot of squash soup simmering on the stove.

They were nearly done when the others returned from outside. Dwalin walked into the kitchen first, smelling of sweat beneath his heavy coat.

"Is that soup?" He reached over to poke a grimy finger into the pot, but Bilbo smacked his hand away.

"For that, you get to set the table. But wash your hands first."

Dwalin grumbled something under his breath, but made for the sink anyway.

As Bilbo busied himself looking for potholders, Thorin appeared at his shoulder. "I see you've been busy."

Bilbo turned to look at him. He also smelled of sweat, and there was a bit of straw stuck in his beard. "So have you, apparently." He reached up to pluck it away, then looked away as heat spread on his cheeks. He elbowed Thorin, lightly. "Go get washed up. The food will be ready soon."

The kitchen became more crowded as people took turns using the sink and bustled about, carrying food and utensils to the dining room. Bilbo looked up and saw Beorn standing in the doorway, watching the chaos. He didn't look angry or annoyed. He looked more lost than anything.

"We sort of took over your kitchen," Bilbo said with a slightly apologetic smile. "I hope you don't mind."

Beorn took a while to respond. "No." He glanced back and forth between Óin and Dwalin arguing over the proper knife to cut the pie and Bifur helping Ori balance a stack of plates on one hand. "It's alright."

He turned and disappeared down the hallway. Bilbo frowned, wondering if they'd managed to offend him somehow.

"Oi!" Bofur leaned into the kitchen. "Get your ass in here. We're gonna start eating."

Well, Bilbo certainly couldn't ignore what his stomach was telling him to do. He carefully took a plate from Ori and headed into the dining room. There weren't enough seats for all of them, so a few people were trickling into the living room to sit down and eat.

They all paused as Beorn appeared in the doorway again. He held up two bottles. "I think the wine glasses are in one of the top cabinets."

The mood brightened considerably after that, and soon everyone was seated with a plate of food and a glass of wine. Bofur pulled Bilbo into one of the seats at the dining table, along with Beorn, Dwalin, Nori, Balin, Óin, and Thorin.

"I think we should toast." Nori held up his wineglass, which had already been reduced to half its original amount. "To this guy, for letting us stay in his house."

Bilbo smiled and raised his glass as well. "To trust going both ways."

It was all _incredibly_ strange, to be sitting at a dining table and clinking glasses with the smell of hot food filling the room. But he couldn't deny, as Bofur grinned and squeezed his good shoulder, that he hadn't felt this happy in a long time.

The next few minutes were filled with silence as everyone dug into their food. There wasn't enough for second helpings, since they did have to make it all last for the rest of the winter, but Bilbo was more than satisfied as he sat back and listened to the amiable chatter permeating the room.

Beorn had finished his food as well, and was sitting rather stiffly as he listened to them talk. It occurred to Bilbo that this was probably rather awkward for him. Even though this was his home, he was still an outsider considering how well the rest of them knew each other.

"This is a lovely house," Bilbo said to him. "Did you grow up here?"

He nodded. "It's been in my family for a few generations."

"Well, it's in very good condition." He looked around the dining room, trying hard not to dwell on the question he knew better than to ask. Beorn lived alone, but it clearly hadn't always been that way. In this world, there was only one thing that could have happened to the others.

Bofur leaned around him and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I can't believe you've been doing all this work by yourself. I thought I was going to keel over after a couple hours."

Beorn nodded slowly, and Bilbo resisted the urge to step on Bofur's foot beneath the table. "It hasn't been easy. But there's not much work to do in the winter compared to the other seasons."

"So what happened to the rest of your people?" Nori asked. He was slouched almost sideways in his chair, twirling the stem of his wineglass between his fingers.

Bilbo considered throwing a fork at his head.

Beorn sat back, his gaze not focused on anything in particular. "Another group raided our farm." His hand was clenched tightly where it rested on the table, and Bilbo noticed for the first time a semicircular scar that extended across his wrist. "They took us by surprise. I killed a few of their people, and the rest escaped."

The dining room fell silent. Bilbo felt a cold pit sink into his stomach as he remembered Dori. He tried to imagine that loss multiplied tenfold. If he'd been the only one to escape the warehouse, he didn't know how he would have gone on.

A low whine sounded from the floor, and Bilbo jumped as he realized Grim was sitting by Beorn's chair, looking up at him with pleading dark eyes.

"I need to feed him," Beorn said, sounding almost as if he was talking to himself. "Excuse me." He stood up and walked out of the room, Grim trotting at his heels.

Dwalin glared at Nori once he'd gone. "You're an asshole."

Nori held his hands up in a shrug. "What, am I not allowed to ask questions? I thought it was a little suspicious that he was the only one living here."

"It's horrible, is what it is," Bilbo snapped. "And you of all people should have some empathy for what he's been through."

He pushed his chair back and left the room. He needed that shower now, to try and wash off the dirt and sweat and whatever else the road had given him.

* * *

Bilbo woke with a start, blindly grasping for his knife, and paused as he realized how warm he was. After weeks of shivering against freezing soil, it was strange to wake up feeling comfortable. He hadn't felt like this since…

He sat up and looked around, blinking slowly as his memories came back to him. They'd all ended up sleeping in Beorn's living room together. At least half of them could have split up among the bedrooms, but it felt safer to stay together once night fell.

He sighed and swallowed against his dry throat, then remembered with a slight thrill that they didn't need to ration their water anymore. Carefully stepping over Víli and Dís, he tip-toed out of the living room and towards the kitchen.

He wasn't alone. Bilbo squinted at the towering shape near the cabinets, and his eyes widened. Kíli was balanced on top of a stepping stool stacked on one of the chairs, reaching up for something on top of the cabinets. The whole thing wobbled as he stretched his arm out.

"For goodness' sake, Kíli!" Bilbo darted forward and lifted him down before he could fall. "What on earth were you thinking?"

Kíli frowned defensively and crossed his arms. "I was just getting some stuff."

Bilbo noticed the dinosaur-patterned backpack leaning against the chair, and his heart dropped. "What is that?"

"I was just packing." He reached down and grasped one of the straps. "So we don't run out of supplies when we get kicked out."

He sighed and knelt down. "Kíli, what makes you think we're going to get kicked out?"

Kíli shrugged. "That's what always happens," he said matter-of-factly, as if he were explaining why grass was green. "Wherever we go, we have to leave."

Bilbo took in a breath, but there was nothing he could say. Kíli was right. He gestured to the backpack. "Will having this make you feel safe?"

"Yeah." Kíli shrugged again. "I guess."

"Keep it close, then." He squeezed his shoulder. "And go get some rest. If you need to get something off one of the high shelves, ask one of us, alright?"

"Okay." Kíli nodded, though he didn't look exactly reassured. "'Night, Bilbo." He grabbed his backpack and dragged it out of the kitchen.

Bilbo stood up and ran a hand over his face. He wasn't sure what to make of it, that he believed more readily than Kíli that this could be a home for them. Maybe he was being naive, but he wanted badly to believe that they would never have to go hungry again, that they could actually _live_ here.

He made his way back to the living room, and paused as he caught a glimpse of auburn hair through one of the front windows. He opened the front door, wincing at the blast of icy air that swept into the foyer, and quickly stepped outside and pulled it shut behind him.

Nori was slumped against the porch railing, a bottle of whiskey in one hand. When he caught sight of Bilbo, he raised it a few inches. "Found it in the laundry room. What kind of psycho keeps their booze in the laundry room?"

"Well, you did check there." Bilbo stepped forward and held out a hand. After a moment, Nori passed the bottle to him, the amber liquid sloshing just below the neck. He screwed it shut and placed it on the porch railing.

Spreading his hands, Nori gave him a _What the hell?_ look, but made no move to take the bottle back.

"Look." Bilbo leaned against the railing and crossed his arms. "I just want to apologize for what I said earlier. I shouldn't have brought up...I shouldn't have said anything about what happened before."

"Eh." Nori shrugged. "Whatever. I was being kind of an ass, too."

"Well…" Bilbo took a seat next to him. Nori was brushing him off in his usual way, but he wasn't going to let it slide this time. "I know you're not okay right now. Not that any of us really are. But if you want to talk about any of it, I promise not to snap at you."

Nori raised his eyebrows and blinked slowly at him. Bilbo was beginning to wonder if he would remember this conversation at all the next morning, given the state of the bottle.

After a few minutes of silence, he shook his head and stood up. "I'm taking this in with me." He grabbed the bottle, the glass leaving a sharp, cold imprint against his skin. "And I suggest you come in too, before you freeze to death."

Bilbo was almost at the door when Nori said, "It's just fucked up, you know? He's never going to get to see this." He lowered his head and massaged his brow. "It's not right."

"Yeah." A painful shard wedged itself in his heart. "I think he'd be happy, though. That we made it." He walked across the porch and took Nori by the arm. "Come on. Let's get you inside."

* * *

They should have put someone on watch last night.

Thorin sighed and ran a hand over his face. His fingers left a chill on his skin, already cold after a few minutes of standing outside. They'd all let their guard down the previous night, subdued by hot food and a chance to sit comfortably for a while. Thorin had only planned on resting in one of the armchairs for a few minutes, but everything—the escape from the warehouse, searching the hospital, dealing with Gimli, and all the sleepless nights in between—it had all caught up to him, and he'd been dead to the world for the next ten hours.

Nothing had attacked while he'd been asleep. Almost everyone was still sleeping in the living room, and Beorn had gone back to the barn about half an hour ago. Yet he couldn't shake the uneasiness humming quietly beneath his skin as he looked out over the frost-covered grass in front of the house.

The door creaked open, and Bilbo stepped outside, two steaming mugs in either hand. He held one out to Thorin.

"Thanks." He accepted the drink, the hot ceramic already bringing some feeling back into his fingers. The curling scent of chamomile filled the air.

"Couldn't find any coffee, unfortunately." Bilbo held up his free hand to hide a yawn. The curls on one side of his head were flattened where he'd been sleeping on them, and Thorin had to resist the urge to brush them back into place. "There are worse ways to wake up, though."

"Yeah." He cleared his throat and turned back to the lawn. "Did you sleep well?"

"I guess so." Bilbo took a sip of his tea. "I found Kíli going through the kitchen in the middle of the night. Said he was packing up supplies for when we had to leave again."

Thorin nodded. "He's learning."

Bilbo let out an indignant huff. "He shouldn't have to. He should focus on being a kid, not getting ready to leave at a moment's notice."

"Well, being a kid isn't going to protect him from everything that's out there." Thorin turned to him with a frown. "You know that. We can't stay here, anyway."

"Thorin." Bilbo met his gaze with a pleading look. "We could. We could _live_ here, find some peace while it lasts. Why not make the most of it?"

"Because this place isn't safe," Thorin growled, even as his throat tightened. He wanted nothing more than to give that to Bilbo, to all of them—a life of peace, where they didn't have to worry about walkers or strangers or anything else. But they couldn't find that here. "Those fences aren't going to keep out the rest of the world forever. If another group like Azog's finds this place, they could be on our doorstep before we know anything's wrong." He shook his head. "This farm is vulnerable. There's too many things that could go wrong."

"We have four walls and a roof. Food and running water." Bilbo swallowed and shrugged. "Can't that be enough for now?"

Thorin closed his eyes. It was too soon to push the rest of the group to move on, especially in the dead of winter. They could stay for now, regain their strength, and work until they'd repaid their debt to their host. "If we're staying for now, I'll still have to go on a run sometime in the next few days."

Bilbo let out a half-incredulous laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Gimli needs some more formula. We're out of ammo, too." Thorin met Bilbo's eyes, though he couldn't hold his gaze for long. He stepped past him and made for the front door. "I'll look for some coffee while I'm out."

**Ahh, domesticity. Maybe it'll last this time. Even though we still have a ways to go. But maybe they'll get a little break. Just kidding...unless?**

**Anyway, I think this is the longest delay I've had in updating this story. I'm going to school full time and getting underpaid for two part time jobs so I barely have time to do anything now. But these next two chapters are a sort of turning point for the story, so if there's any place for me to be slow on updates, this is it. Also, I'm kind of sick and my brain is fried so I hope this chapter was actually good haha**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

As he drew closer to the farm, Thorin reached for the walkie lying in the passenger seat. "This is Thorin. I'll be there in another minute or two."

Ori was waiting for him when he arrived, and pulled the gate open so he could drive through. The walker heads snarled from the tops of their posts. He closed the gate and hopped into the passenger seat, and they two of them drove the rest of the way to the farmhouse.

"Find anything good?" Ori asked.

"Most of the usual," Thorin replied. He gestured to one of the bags in the backseat. "God some more film for your camera."

"Oh, _nice_." Ori leaned back to start rooting through the bags.

Thorin pulled up to the garage, and the two of them brought the supplies into the house. Ori was moving much more deftly with just one hand now, balancing the bags on his left arm like he'd been doing it all his life.

The house was mostly empty when they entered—Thorin guessed most of the group was working out back. He deposited the supplies on the table, which consisted mostly of food, toiletries, and baby supplies.

"You're back early," Balin said, walking into the kitchen.

"Got lucky with one of the stores," Thorin said, setting aside a couple boxes of ammo. "I found enough to head back early."

He'd been keeping an eye out for a safer place for the group, but so far he'd only encountered two-story houses and storefronts. More than once, he'd found his thoughts straying to the east, but kept the thought in the back of his mind.

"Next time you should take someone with you," Balin said, and Thorin fought the urge to roll his eyes. He'd made the same suggestion for the last time he'd gone on a run, as well as the time before that. "I'm sure Dwalin is itching to get out of the house."

"I need Dwalin here," Thorin said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. "He knows this." It was one of the only things that gave him the peace of mind to leave the group at the farm for days on end. If something were to go wrong, he knew he could trust Dwalin, as well as Glóin and Bifur, to keep the others safe. "Only one of us needs to go."

"In that case," came another voice, and Thorin turned to see Bilbo standing in the doorway, "we could all take turns going out."

Thorin tried not to scowl as he turned back to the supplies. Bilbo had been even more vocal than Balin, and it was harder to resist him. Bilbo had a persuasive way of talking—or maybe it was just the little furrow in his brow that could guilt trip him harder than anything else.

"I know where I have and haven't been. It wouldn't make sense for someone else to go." And more than that, he didn't want anyone else risking themselves out there.

He could practically hear Bilbo and Balin exchange a glance behind his back, and after a moment, Bilbo turned and left the room. Ori finished putting away the last of the cans, then followed him out. Balin continued to hover by the fridge.

Thorin let out a slow breath and leaned his palms against the kitchen table. "Anything else you'd like to criticize?"

"We could try putting out a suggestions box," Balin said. Thorin snorted, some of the irritation leaving his shoulders. "We know how much you've done for us, Thorin." Balin went to stand next to him at the table. "But you don't have to put it all on yourself."

He shook his head, but decided not to argue the point further. "This is all temporary. Soon the weather will be warmer." He glanced out the window. The last of the frost had melted weeks ago, though chilly winds still swept across the fields. "And we'll be able to move on."

"We might want to stay a little longer," Balin said. "There's going to be a lot to do in the spring. Seeds to plant, and such." He cleared his throat. "Still not sure what all of that entails."

Thorin grunted at that. There would be work to do on the farm the whole year round. There would never truly be a convenient time to leave, but they needed to pick one anyway.

"At the very least, we could wait until Gimli is a little older. It'll be easier to travel once he stops crying so often."

That was a good point, and enough to make him pause.

"Fine. We'll wait, then, revisit this in another few months."

Balin clapped him on the shoulder, then turned to go. "Maybe we _should_ think about getting a suggestions box."

Thorin shook his head with a small smile, though his gaze never left the window.

* * *

Bilbo couldn't help but sigh in relief as he passed out of the sweltering heat and into the welcoming shade of the trees. It was summer now, and the heat was brutal. Even so, there was plenty of work to be done on the farm, and he was still sweating even though he'd finished weeding the garden over an hour ago.

There was nothing like a glass of lemonade (from a powder mix, but it did the job) and a good book in the shade on a day like this. There was a creek flowing through the woods at the edge of the property, and it was one of his favorite spots to relax. Though as he drew closer, he realized he wasn't the only one with that idea.

Familiar laughter and a series of splashes reached his ears. Bilbo reached the creek and smiled. Fíli and Kíli were standing in the water, both well on their way to becoming soaking wet as they splashed at each other.

Dís was leaning against a tree nearby, stitching up a tear in one of her shirts. She nodded to the thermos in his hand as he approached. "Whatcha got there? Booze?"

Bilbo glanced at the sky. "It's not even noon." He shook the container in his hand. "This is just lemonade."

"Oh, thank you, I was so thirsty."

He rolled his eyes, but handed her the thermos anyway. "I was just coming out here to read, but…" He glanced over at the boys, who were both shouting as Kíli attempted to jump onto his brother's back.

Dís shrugged and handed the container back to him. "I usually just end up tuning them out." She glanced at the book in his hand. "Is that another one Thorin got for you?"

Bilbo hummed in the affirmative. Not fearing for his survival anymore meant he had much more time to read, and he'd finished everything in Beorn's personal collection in a couple of months. Thorin kept an eye out for books whenever he went out, which Bilbo was grateful for...though it didn't excuse the fact that he left the farm far more times than he thought was necessary.

A booming series of barks sounded from the edge of the forest, and a moment later, Grim came bounding into the clearing. Bilbo tensed up, then took a breath and told himself to calm down. He'd grown a little more comfortable around the dog in the past few months, but he couldn't help his reaction whenever Grim got excited.

Fíli had it even worse than he did. He froze, staring with wide eyes at Grim as he splashed into the creek, tail wagging wildly, and began sniffing around the boys.

"It's okay, Fee." Dís stood up and made her way into the creek. "He's not gonna bite you." She put a hand on Fíli's shoulder while he stared at the dog, stiff as a board.

"Yeah, he's nice." Kíli had both hands buried in the fur behind Grim's ears, though he kept glancing at his brother. "You can pet him." He giggled when Grim licked his face, and ducked away.

"Go ahead." Dís rubbed Fíli's back. "You're okay."

Bilbo's heart broke at the fear on his face, where moments ago he'd been laughing along with Kíli. Though the memory of the warehouse and Azog's group grew more distant with each day, it was moments like this that sent the weight of it all crashing down again. He tried to push down his rising anger. What had happened to them was no fault of Grim's, who by all means was a rather well-behaved dog.

Stiffly, Fíli raised one hand. He flinched when Grim licked his fingers, but with Dís's soft encouragement, he reached over and gave him a soft pat on the head. Grim panted at them for a moment, looking almost like he was smiling, then trotted out of the creek. He shook himself off and walked away.

"That wasn't so bad, huh?" Dís looked down at her son and pulled him into a one-armed hug.

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Fíli, look!" Kíli was crouched a little ways downstream. "I found a frog!"

Fíli brightened a little at that and went to join his brother. Dís watched them both for a moment, then stepped out of the creek and walked back towards the tree.

"Ugh, now my shoes are all wet." She sat down and stripped off her sneakers.

Bilbo smiled. "Well, that was progress, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." Her gaze softened a little. "At least Kíli's not having any problems with the dog. He feeds him under the table at, like, every meal."

He laughed. "You know, he's handled it pretty well, not being the baby of the family anymore."

"Ah, the privileges that come with being the youngest child." Dís leaned back and stretched. "Never got tired of that."

"Oh, is that why you think you can go around taking people's lemonade?"

"You gave it to me, remember?" She grinned. "That's all part of the youngest sibling charm."

"Well, this is all new to me. I was an only child, so I never really had to share with anyone."

"Did that ever get lonely? Being the only kid in the house?"

Bilbo glanced up at the sky, letting himself sink back into memories of his childhood. It was strange to think of himself back then, content and oblivious to how the world would be now. "I suppose," he said slowly, "it could get lonely at times. Though I usually had my nose in a book, so it didn't bother me too much. And I had cousins visit occasionally. But I think it would have been nice to have an older brother or sister to look out for me."

Dís nodded, her expression filling with nostalgia as well as a bit of melancholy. "Thorin did his best, but after...after he was discharged, he got kind of distant. Threw himself into his work. I don't know if you've noticed, but once he gets going, it's kind of hard to get him to stop."

He snorted, and tried not to let too much resentment enter his voice. "You don't have to tell me twice."

"But, I mean, he wasn't always such a workaholic."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Well…" Dís opened her mouth, looking as if she wanted to say something more, then shrugged. "Maybe one day he'll figure out how to relax again."

Bilbo sighed and closed his eyes. "One day."

* * *

"Would you look at that. Nothing like it that I've ever seen."

Glóin turned to her brother. "What are you talking about?"

Óin gestured at the trees just beyond the fence. The leaves had turned various shades of yellow, orange, and red. "This. Nature herself is a work of art." He waved a small leather-bound notebook in one hand. "I was trying to write some poetry about it, but _they_ were putting a dampener on everything."

Thorin's hand went to rest on his gun. He wasn't looking at the trees, but rather at the shifting crowd just outside the fence. The walkers were pressed up against the wood beams, trapped there by their own mindless persistence. Even as they approached, the wood began to buckle.

He started forward, drawing his knife and sinking it into the crown of the nearest walker. Glóin was right beside him, driving her machete into another walker's face. With Óin's help, the three of them were able to dispatch the rest of the group.

Thorin glared at the walker heads attached to the fence posts, which were still snarling uselessly. "So much for keeping walkers away from the fence." One of the rails finally snapped beneath a dead walker's weight, and he stepped back as the rotting body tumbled onto the grass.

Glóin bent down to wipe her machete on the grass and glanced up at Óin. "You were writing poetry about fall leaves? You sure you don't want to describe the color of the sky, or something?"

Óin cleared his throat. "I, for one, think it's a great metaphor for how one can find beauty in a decaying world."

Before Glóin could respond, Thorin said, "We need to be more careful checking the perimeter. We can't let a buildup like this happen again."

She grunted in agreement. "Well, let's get rid of these fuckers before they stink up the whole farm."

"I'll go ask Bofur and Bombur about repairing the fence," Óin said as Glóin and Thorin hopped the fence. He rubbed his back. "I don't think I'm in any shape to be picking up dead bodies."

"Why don't you write some poetry about your back pain?" Glóin called after him as he walked away.

Thorin snorted and placed both hands under the first walker's shoulders. "Ready?"

"Yeah." Glóin grabbed the walker's legs, and they carried it a little ways into the forest. They found a relatively clear spot and threw it into the dirt.

"That fence is not going to work," Thorin said as they headed back to collect the next one. "We get another herd like the one from last winter, and they could tear the whole thing down before we can do anything about it."

"We could probably find some materials to reinforce it, like we did at the motel," Glóin said. "I think Bofur and Bombur have been itching for some sort of project to do anyway."

Thorin wondered if he needed to mention how much the reinforced fence at the motel had helped them. Besides, the fence surrounding the farm was at least a mile long—fortifying all of it would take a ridiculous amount of supplies and time.

Glóin studied his face as they bent down to pick up the next walker. "You're still thinking about leaving, huh?"

"We'll either leave on our own, or be forced to by something else." He'd continued his solo supply runs, going farther and farther from the farm, but he still hadn't found a place that he would consider suitable for the group. The best he'd found was a nearby university. The metal fence surrounding the campus was better than what they had now, but the place was too big, and there were too many points of entry. They didn't have enough people to keep the place safe.

"Or," Glóin said, "we could take our chances here." When Thorin gave her a doubtful look, she continued, "Maybe this is the best we're going to get. Maybe there is no laser-guarded abandoned steel bunker waiting out there for us."

Thorin shook his head. "There _is_ a better option out there. We just haven't found it yet."

"Well, I don't want to go traipsing all over the countryside looking for it." She shrugged. "I'm not taking my son out there, not when he has a chance to grow up here. I don't want him to go through what Fíli and Kíli had to go through."

That was enough to give him pause. He thought back to what Bilbo had told him months before—that Kíli had a backpack stored away in case they had to leave. He was glad his nephews were learning how to keep themselves safe, but that wasn't what he wanted for them.

"I would never ask you to take Gimli away from here, not if it wasn't necessary." Thorin sighed and straightened as they dumped the next walker. "But I'm going to keep looking. If he's going to be safe, then I want it to be for _real_."

Glóin frowned and said softly, "You don't have to, though. I mean, you've gotten us this far. If you decided to just settle down, none of us would blame you."

Thorin looked away. He wouldn't be able to settle down, wouldn't be able to rest, until they didn't have to worry about things like walkers at the fence.

She gave an exasperated sigh. "You're not in debt anymore, okay? You don't have to keep punishing yourself for what happened to Fre—"

"_Glóin_." He nearly winced at the harshness in his tone. A familiar, painful tightness appeared in his chest. "Just drop it, alright?"

"Fine." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her shake her head, but she said nothing more as they went to retrieve the next dead body.

* * *

Bilbo drifted out of his doze and blinked. He looked around and realized he was still in the armchair by the fireplace. "How long was I out?"

Bombur smiled as he bent down to add another log to the fire. "About forty five minutes. You have any nice dreams?"

"Mostly just about food," Bilbo said, and Bombur laughed. He sighed and rubbed his face. Apparently a full belly and a warm hearth had been enough to put him right to sleep.

They'd enjoyed a veritable feast just a few hours earlier. They had lost track of the dates a long time ago, but with snowdrifts gathering around the house, the group had decided to pick a week to celebrate Hanukkah. The food had been wonderful, and Thorin had found a menorah on one of his runs, which they'd lit and placed in one of the windows in the living room. In another window was a single candle they'd lit in remembrance of Dori.

Bilbo sighed and stretched. He would have liked to fall asleep again, but now that he was awake, he felt the need to move around. Even a year after being on the road, not all of his survival instincts had left him.

He peeked into the dining room, but it seemed all of the dishes had been taken care of. They hadn't needed to worry about leftovers.

Ori passed by and tapped him on the shoulder. He had his camera slung around his neck, and a collection of photos pinched between two fingers. "Do you know where the thumbtacks are?"

"I think there's a box of them in the kitchen." Bilbo motioned for Ori to follow him.

Víli and Bifur were in the kitchen, washing the dishes. Víli shook off a bowl and tossed it to Bifur, who caught it by the rim and began drying it.

"Hey!" Bilbo scowled at the two of them. "None of that, you're going to break something!"

"I don't know, Bifur's got pretty good reflexes." Víli picked up the next object in the sink, which happened to be a carving knife. He considered it for a moment, then leaned over to hand it to Bifur.

Bilbo sent another warning glance at the pair, then walked over to the kitchen drawers where they kept miscellaneous supplies. "They should be somewhere...ah, here. This work for you?" He handed the thumbtacks to Ori.

"Thanks." Ori slipped the photos into one of his pockets and accepted the box.

"What are you planning to do with those, anyway?" Bilbo followed him back into the library, partially out of curiosity and partially from the feeling that he was going to need some help.

"I was thinking about hanging up some of the photos I've taken, so they're not just sitting in my backpack." Ori stopped by an empty space in the wall and set the thumbtacks on the back of the sofa. He took out one of the pictures from his pocket. It was a shot from earlier that evening, of their family gathered around the dining table, laughing over plates of half-eaten food. The sight made him smile. "I told Beorn about it, and he said he didn't mind."

"That sounds like a great idea." Bilbo put a hand on the box of thumbtacks. "So, you choose where the picture goes, and then I'll hang it up?"

"Alright." Ori nodded. He'd gotten very good at doing things one-handed, but he also tended not to ask for help when he needed it—he and Nori were more alike than either one would admit.

They spent the next few minutes pinning up the photos in a haphazard collage. Bilbo wasn't sure if Ori had any sort of prior experience with photography, but most of his shots were lovely: a picture of a stray cat in an abandoned house, a stream flowing through the woods, Fíli and Kíli holding hands as they walked along the road.

"So many memories on one wall." Bilbo stepped back and smiled once they'd finished. "I'm glad you decided to document all of this."

"So am I." Ori adjusted the camera strap hanging around his neck. "Thank you for helping me."

"Of course." He stifled a yawn as Ori went to go put away the thumbtacks. Maybe he would go to bed early—it was his turn in one of the bedrooms, so he might as well make the most of it. There were a limited number of beds in the house compared to the people living in it, so they all took turns between the bedrooms, the living room, and whatever available places they could find to sleep.

He found Kíli on the stairs, surrounded by scraps of paper. Little triangles were scattered about the wood and stuck to his fingers.

Bilbo put his hands on his hips. "Are you planning on cleaning all of that up?"

"Uh huh." Kíli didn't even look up, his gaze intensely focused on the paper in his hands. Upon further inspection Bilbo realized it was a paper chain—four crudely-cut people holding hands. The one with blonde hair drawn in yellow crayon was labeled "Fíli," and next to it were three more labeled "Mom," "Dad," and "Me."

"Are you making decorations for the holidays?"

"Yeah." Kíli maneuvered the scissors so he could cut out the blank space between Dís and Víli's figures. "Fíli says if I glue a bunch of these together, I can make one for everyone."

"Well, I'd love to see it when you're done. Just be careful with those scissors, alright?" Bilbo ruffled his hair and continued up the stairs.

He was about to head into one of the rooms, but he paused when he noticed Beorn's door was ajar. None of them had been inside his bedroom before—though Beorn had become friendlier over the past year, he still maintained a certain distance from the rest of the group. Bilbo stepped closer and saw him fiddling with one of the ceiling lights. He was so tall he didn't even need a ladder to reach it.

"You need any help?" he asked, and Beorn jumped slightly. "Sorry."

"It's alright." He lowered his hands. "Just trying to screw this damn thing back on."

Bilbo let out a soft laugh. "Well, it might help if you could see what you were doing." He was only working by the dim light of a lamp in one corner of the room.

Beorn grunted in what might have been agreement. "There's a flashlight in the bedside table, top drawer."

He hesitated for a moment, then stepped into the bedroom and followed his directions. He tried not to stare too openly—not at the photographs on the dresser, not at the rumpled bedsheets, not at the wood shavings stuck in the rug.

He retrieved the flashlight and clicked it on, careful not to shine the beam in Beorn's face.

"Hm. That is a little better." He set to work on the light again.

Grim was curled up in a dog bed in the corner of the room. After a few minutes, he walked over to Bilbo and licked his free hand, whining for treats.

Bilbo scratched him behind the ears. "I don't have anything for you, sorry." Grim pushed against his hand, panting. "Where did you get the name Grim, anyway? He doesn't really seem like the brooding type."

"I didn't pick the name. My son did."

"Oh." He winced, inwardly kicking himself, but Beorn continued.

"He got it from some book he was reading, I think. He was the one who asked for a dog, so I let him pick the name."

Bilbo still didn't know what to say. His gaze drifted over to one of the photographs on the dresser. It showed a group of people standing on the porch steps—Beorn, looking much younger than he did now, a couple of men about the same age, a blonde woman, and a teenage boy. It was chilling to think of these people, the lives they'd had, and the fact that their memory was nothing more than a couple of photographs and the weathered man standing next to him.

"I was...gone for a long time after I lost them," Beorn said. "Every day, I'd go out and find a walker, put its head on a branch. I wasn't doing it to make the place safer, I just...needed something to kill."

Bilbo thought back to the heads on the fence with a slight shudder. There must have been at least a hundred there.

"I still don't know how Grim stayed with me the whole time. Though I suppose he was grieving, in his own way."

The dog had padded back to his bed and was lying with his head resting on his paws. He looked almost mournful.

Beorn finished with the light and lowered his hands, then stared at it as if he expected it to fall and break. After a while, he said, "It's nice to have people in the house again."

"Well, I'm glad you let us in. We all are." Bilbo stepped back and clicked the flashlight off. "You have no idea how much of a relief it's been."

"But Thorin still wants to leave."

Bilbo cleared his throat. That had definitely been a topic of discussion, but they'd all been more focused on how that would affect the group if they were back on the road. No one had bothered to think what it would do to Beorn if they left him alone again.

"Nothing's been made final, yet. Personally, I'm hoping he'll forget about it." He let out an irritated sigh. With all of his absences, he was surprised Thorin had bothered to stick around at all for their holiday. It had taken some convincing to get him to stay until the weather got warmer. Eventually Dís had pulled him aside and, although no one knew what had been said, Thorin had agreed to stay the winter.

"He won't forget. None of you will."

Bilbo lowered his gaze. There was enough truth in that. As much as he'd fallen into the rhythm of living in a house again, and as much as he hoped it would always be this way, he couldn't forget any of it—not Ori's amputation, not Azog's group, not those cold, hungry days on the road. Perhaps he was just living out a fantasy, pretending that things could go back to some semblance of normal.

"You can still stay here," Beorn said, almost apologetically. "For however long it lasts."

He gave a weak smile in response. "I'd be happy with another year."

**I have a lot of thoughts about this chapter, so I'm going to dump them here.**

**1\. I think I've traumatized you guys, because last chapter everyone was convinced the farm was going to blow up or something and the group would be forced to move on. But they'll be staying for a while, at least, and hopefully that'll give them (and y'all) some time to breathe.**

**2\. I was listening to "Black Hole Sun" from the Westworld soundtrack while writing this chapter, and I think it fits pretty well. Also shoutout to Ramin Djawadi for just being a musical genius, I love his shit.**

**3\. A few people mentioned Fili's reaction to Grim from a couple chapters ago, and I'm glad that was appreciated. I had a couple dogs who used to get into really bad fights (like emergency room bad) and even though I never got terrorized or my shoulder torn up like Fili and Bilbo, that sort of aggressive energy would freak me out for a long time afterwards. So that's real, y'all. But hopefully this chapter shows that it doesn't all have to be bad when it comes to our doggo friends!**

**4\. The paper chain part with Kili was inspired by sodasacd's amazing fanart of this fic, which you should absolutely check out on tumblr.**

**5\. The holiday stuff makes me laugh a little because in the TWD comics, winter comes and Rick freaks out like "we can't tell the kids it's Christmas! They'll figure out Santa isn't REAL" like bro you have dead people trying to eat you, get your priorities straight.**

**6\. Finally, I don't really like adding new POVs this late into the story, but I'm probably going to add Fíli's POV in later chapters, because there's some sequences later on that just can't be fully covered with just two.**


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

"Break it off right there. Yes, like that. Now…" Bilbo used his spade to dig a shallow hole in the soil. "Put it right there."

Kíli leaned over and placed the sprig into the hole, and Bilbo brushed some dirt to cover it up.

"Now this will take root, and become a plant of its own."

Kíli sat back on his heels. "That's actually kinda cool."

"Yes, it is." Bilbo smiled. "So do you agree now that gardening is not just some boring activity for old people?"

"Nah, it's a cool activity...for old people."

"Hey!"

Laughing, Kíli sprang up and ran away before Bilbo could retaliate. He shook his head and bent down to pull up a few weeds.

"Uncle Bilbo!"

He looked up again as Gimli ran towards him, a piece of paper flapping in one hand. He didn't know exactly who had started calling him that first, but the name had stuck with the boys, and it warmed his heart every time he heard it.

Gimli stopped in front of him and shoved the paper at him. "Do you like my drawing?"

"Hmm." Bilbo took the paper from him. It seemed Gimli had shot up faster than his tomato plants. At four and a half years old, he was energetic and talkative as ever, with a shock of red hair and warm brown eyes he'd clearly inherited from Brana.

He pressed a finger onto the paper. "That's our house. That's Mommy and Mama and me, and that's my secret hideout."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows, looking down at the door labeled "SECRIT" that appeared to be floating in the middle of the sky. "I wasn't aware we had a secret hideout."

"That's because it's a secret!" Gimli dropped his voice to a whisper. "Don't tell anyone."

Bilbo nodded solemnly. "I won't tell a soul."

"Thanks!" Gimli took back his paper and ran back towards the porch.

Bilbo watched him go, then stood up and stretched. Autumn had already swept its carpet of leaves over the farm, but hopefully the weather would stay warm enough for one more harvest. They had more than enough food to last the winter, but he still liked taking care of his plants. It was far more than he'd been able to do with his tiny fire escape garden.

Thinking about his old apartment still sent a wave of nostalgia through him, but it didn't hurt like it used to. They'd lived at the farm long enough for him to consider it home.

And their group had certainly made a mark on it. They'd taken down the walker heads and put up coils of barbed wire along the fence—it was the most they could realistically do in terms of fortification. Bofur and Bombur had spent an entire summer renovating the hayloft into a cozy sitting room. Their crowning achievement had come the next year, when they'd scraped up enough supplies to build a cabin a little ways off from the garden. It was another place for the group to sleep when the weather allowed it. They'd also strung up a hammock between two oak trees.

All in all, there were several comfortable places to curl up with a good book, and that was exactly what Bilbo planned to do now. He walked into the kitchen to wash his hands and make himself some tea. Bombur was standing by the stove, sharpening a knife.

"Well, that's ominous." Bilbo turned on the sink. "Did Bifur eat all your gingersnaps again?"

"Nah." He paused in his sharpening. "I mean, I don't think so. It was just getting dull. And I'm waiting to see if this one will get bored and leave me alone." He nodded at Grim, who was sitting at Bombur's feet and staring with pleading eyes.

Bilbo chuckled and dried his hands. "With the way you keep feeding him scraps? That knife's going to be gone before he moves."

"Yeah, Beorn says if we keep giving him table food he's going to get fat. But I figure if we just give him vegetables, he'll be fine."

He glanced at the carrots, potatoes and onions waiting to be chopped on the counter and felt his stomach rumble. "Well, save some for the rest of us." He filled up the kettle and set it on the stove.

Bombur tested the edge of the knife on his finger, then walked over to the counter with the vegetables, Grim right on his heels. "We're starting your new diet today, boy. You like carrots?"

Bilbo set a teabag in his mug and went to go retrieve his book from where he'd left it on the dining room table. From the other room, he could hear Grim whining, his tail thumping against the cabinets.

"You want to be my sous chef?" Bombur asked when he came back in. "I could use an extra pair of hands."

"Sorry, but I have a date with Sir Richard." He waved the book in his hand. "And I'm just getting to the good part. Go ask Fíli. He still owes me for switching my sugar and salt that one time."

"Okay. Have fun on your date, and be back before ten!"

Bilbo laughed and walked back outside. His favorite chair on the porch was free, so he settled back and opened his book. Gimli was lying on his stomach nearby, but he was too engrossed in his drawing to pay much attention to him.

A couple hours later, the rumble of an engine drew his attention back into the real world. Bilbo looked up in time to see a black truck rolling down the driveway.

Gimli leapt to his feet, the crayon in his hand clattering onto the deck. "Uncle Thorin is back!" He took off down the porch steps and towards the driveway. A moment later, Dwalin and Brana stepped out to help with whatever he'd brought back.

Bilbo lowered his eyes back to his book and stubbornly ignored the commotion out front. Just before Thorin had left, they'd gotten into a pretty bad fight. Seeing him again was a sobering reminder of the tension that laid unresolved between them.

Gimli ran past a moment later, waving a water gun in one hand. "Kíli, look what I got!"

Brana ran after him a moment later, laughing as she called, "Not in the house, Gimli!"

Bilbo kept his eyes fixed on the page in front of him. He was at a particularly interesting part of the story, and he had absolutely no reason to look up at the moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Thorin walk across the driveway and up the porch steps. Bilbo realized he'd read the same paragraph at least five times. He tried for a sixth as Thorin paused next to him.

"Hey."

Bilbo counted to five, then looked up. Thorin was offering him a box. It was an onion chopper, he realized—the same kind they'd found in the warehouse all that time ago. An aching warmth grew in his chest. He couldn't believe Thorin had actually remembered that.

Then he remembered himself, and firmly tamped down on any sort of fond sentiment he had. Thorin couldn't just storm off after their argument, disappear for days on end, then come back and...and try to buy his forgiveness with an onion chopper. He took one last glance at the olive branch and turned back to his book. "Just leave it in the kitchen."

Thorin stood there for a second more, then pushed open the door and stepped inside.

That left Bilbo alone on the porch, at perfect liberty to go back to his book, but he found he couldn't concentrate on the words anymore. He felt a bit sick.

The porch steps creaked again, and Bilbo looked up to see Fíli walking towards him. If Gimli's growth had come as a surprise, then Fíli's shocked him nearly every day. He'd grown into a young man (and had gotten taller than Bilbo somewhere along the way), and looked more like his father each day.

"Are you still mad at Uncle Thorin?" Fíli hoisted himself up onto the porch railing, across from where Bilbo was sitting.

"I'm not mad at him. I mean, I am, but...he knows what he did." Bilbo let his gaze fall back to the book in his lap.

If he was being honest with himself, they'd both said things that they regretted. Nearly everyone in the house had heard those things once they'd started shouting, and the argument had only ended with Dís practically throwing the both of them out the front door and telling them not to come back inside until they'd "worked their shit out." Thorin, apparently taking that to heart, had slammed the door of his truck and disappeared for three days straight.

It had all come down to the fact that Thorin kept leaving, even though no one in the group thought it was necessary, and Bilbo had made that last part very clear. Thorin had made his usual speech about how the group needed to be ready for a potential emergency and they were running low on this particular thing, and Bilbo had just lost his temper. It hurt him to think that Thorin cared more about this nebulous idea of safety than actually being with his family.

"You should probably go talk to him," Fíli said.

Bilbo frowned at him. That was the tone he used when mediating fights between Fíli and his brother, and he did not appreciate the role reversal. "I don't know that I have anything to say."

"Yeah, well…" Fíli shrugged. "I just don't think you guys should stay mad at each other for so long. What if Thorin went out on a run and he didn't come back, and you never got the chance to make up with him?"

That thought alone was enough to sober him up. Bilbo sighed, absently ruffling the pages of the book. "Well, that's part of the reason I'm upset with him. That he's putting himself at risk when he doesn't have to." He pressed his lips together. "But I see your point."

"Good." Fíli stretched out one foot to nudge against his chair. "You guys are both happier when you get along, anyway." He hopped down from the railing and pointed at the book. "Can I have that when you're done?"

"Of course," Bilbo said, still absently playing with the pages as Fíli walked inside. He sat there for a long time, the words forgotten, simply staring at the rows of text as though they'd give him the answers he was searching for.

* * *

When Thorin emerged from the basement, everyone had already finished eating lunch. Ori had popped downstairs briefly to tell him the food was ready, but he'd been too preoccupied to act on it until a couple hours had passed.

He'd lost himself in his task—nothing important, just reviewing their weapons stash and cleaning a few guns—as he meditated on the restlessness coursing through his limbs.

Fíli was the only one in the kitchen, scrubbing the stove with an old sponge. "I accidentally let the soup boil over," he said before Thorin could ask. "I think there's some leftover chicken or something in the fridge."

"I'm fine for now." Thorin squeezed his shoulder as he passed. He'd missed him—he missed all of them, when he was away. But every time he came back, there was a creeping unease that returned, that told him there was more he should be doing. Even if the others weren't happy about it, he could never stay for long.

As if he'd been summoned by his thoughts, Bilbo nearly ran into him as he opened the back door.

"Sorry." Thorin moved aside to let him pass, but he hovered there for a moment.

"Look." He sighed and met his gaze. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier today. I...I was being an ass."

Thorin was silent for a moment, his own apology tangled up in uncertainty. "Alright," he said eventually, and Bilbo moved past him before anything else could be said.

Trying not to frown too deeply, Thorin shoved his hands in his pockets and walked out. The tension between him and Bilbo stung worse than anything else he was feeling, and it had come to a head just before he'd left. Bilbo hadn't deserved any of the anger he was feeling, and it had been bad timing more than anything that it had spilled out while they were arguing. His harsh words had only been a product of the feeling that he wasn't able to do right by any of them, that he was alone in trying desperately to obtain something he couldn't reach.

Across the yard, he spotted Beorn coming out from the shed, and the taller man waved to him.

"I could use some help with the barn door," he said once they were in hearing range of each other.

"Alright." Thorin nodded, and the two of them headed for the barn.

"We had to replace a couple of beams around the entrance," Beorn said. "One of the hinges wasn't put on properly when we put the door back. I can fix it, I just need you to hold it steady."

They worked in silence for a few minutes. At times, it was easy to work with Beorn. He was quiet, steady in his purpose—they were a little too similar in some ways. Thorin was the leader of his family, but it was Beorn's farm, had been his family that lived there before them, and sometimes it was difficult to tell which overruled the other.

"Find anything interesting while you were out?" Beorn asked.

"A group passing through one of the towns," Thorin replied. "They were heading south. I doubt they'll come this way." He'd taken to watching other survivors passing by, as a means of protection and with the slight, twisted hope that he would find Azog's group again and be able to finish what they had started.

"It's been five years," Beorn said. "But you don't consider this place home."

"In this world," Thorin said, releasing the door once Beorn was finished, "home is a dangerous concept." And he was beginning to think the prospect of another, safer place was nonexistent.

"A gamble." He stood up with a grunt. "But not dangerous."

"There are safer bets to take," Thorin turned and surveyed the wide yard, the fence and barbed wire that seemed laughably flimsy from this distance.

"Maybe." Beorn tucked his hands in his pockets, surveying the same landscape but seeing something entirely different. "I've lived on this farm my whole life. And I expect to die here. I think that's as close as home can get."

He gave Thorin a short nod, and set off towards the house.

* * *

The night was unusually warm, but comfortably so. Bilbo lay in the hammock outside, listening to the wind rustle the branches above. The gentle ambience, along with the slight rocking of the hammock, was slowly but surely putting him to sleep.

He cracked an eye open, however, at the rustle of footsteps against the grass. A tall figure was coming towards him. He opened the other eye, and realized it was Thorin.

"Hey." He stopped once he'd reached the hammock, looking slightly uncertain.

Bilbo gave him a slight smile and reached over and patted the empty space next to him in a silent invitation. Thorin walked over and steadied the hammock so he could move aside, then climbed in next to him. It was a rather finicky thing that tended to wobble, so it took them a minute or so to get situated.

And then they were lying side by side.

Bilbo felt a heat settle over his face that had nothing to do with the temperature outside. They were pressed together from shoulder to hip, and the shape of the hammock meant they were probably going to have to stay that way.

They lay in silence for a while, as Bilbo tired to keep his thoughts away from any sort of...horizontal activities one could do with another person in a hammock. From one of the upstairs windows of the house, they could hear the bass thumping from Nori's portable radio.

"I brought him a pair of headphones," Thorin murmured after a while. "You'd think he would use them."

Bilbo chuckled at that. "Well, he actually gave them to Kíli, who was using them to play games under the covers without anyone knowing."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it was this huge scandal when Dís finally found out," he said, grinning at the memory. "And then Kíli hid his game in the couch cushions for a week before she finally confiscated it."

"I'm sorry I missed that."

He hummed in agreement, some of his good humor fading. "I wish you didn't leave so often."

"I know." Thorin paused. "But it's for the good of the group. This is something I have to do. I have to go."

Bilbo could feel a protest swelling within his chest, but he remembered Fíli's words from earlier. He tried for humor instead. "Well...if I break both your legs you'll have to stay."

Thorin snorted. "What, are you going to pull out a hammer and smash my knees in? Was your library a front for the mob?"

"You know, you shouldn't be teasing me like that. I know where you live." He could feel the vibrations of Thorin's laughter through their pressed-together shoulders, and felt a grin spread across his own face. It was enough, at least for the moment, to pretend that this was all that was between them—comfort and intimacy and laughter.

A low tap sounded next to his ear, and Bilbo turned to see that an acorn had fallen from one of the branches above, and was rolling in a circle on the fabric of the hammock.

Thorin had turned to look, too.

Bilbo could feel his heart begin to pound as he realized just how close they were. Their noses were only an inch or two apart, and he could feel a warm gust of breath on his face.

Thorin was staring at him, a sparkle of humor still in his eyes. He really was unfairly handsome, and at this proximity, it made something tug at Bilbo's chest.

_What have I got to lose?_

Before he could stop and second guess himself, he shifted onto his side, his gaze locked on Thorin's lips as they parted slightly.

The world began to tilt, and Bilbo yelped as he slid off the hammock and landed painfully on his back. Thorin tumbled right after him, only barely managing to catch himself on his forearms before he could land with his full weight on top of Bilbo.

"Ow." Bilbo let out an exasperated sigh that made his chest shake. Apparently his attempt to adjust his position had been enough to throw them both off balance.

"Are you okay?" Thorin lifted himself into a crouch.

"Yeah." Bilbo glanced at the base of the hammock, which was only a few inches away from where he'd landed. "Nearly cracked my skull open just now."

"Well, that's what you get for threatening to smash my knees in." With a smirk, Thorin reached down and helped him up.

"Maybe I'll just slash your tires instead." Bilbo focused on brushing himself off, trying not to think about how quickly Thorin had withdrawn.

He was still standing close, searching Bilbo's face when their eyes met.

The urge to touch him was still there, thrumming along with his pulse, but fading fast. Whatever he'd been about to do, it wouldn't have convinced Thorin to stay. He cleared his throat and turned his gaze to the side. "Well, we should probably head inside."

They walked back to the house in silence. Thorin reached up to brush a bit of grass from the back of his shirt, and Bilbo tried not to think about the warmth left behind by his touch.

**...You though I was going to make them kiss, didn't you? I promise I'm not going to drag this out for much longer, though. There's only so long these two idiots can stay repressed.**

**The song Nori is playing in that last scene is "Slow Dancing in the Dark" by Joji, which I think perfectly sets the mood for that scene.**

**So yeah, I went kind of crazy with the time jump, but I did it for a couple reasons that I can't explain right now because spoilers. But this is all super crazy to me because I kind of can't believe I've made it this far. This is shaping up to be the longest fic I've ever wrote, since most of my stuff is usually around 30 chapters and we are at 26 right now with still another third of the story to go. So huge thanks to everyone that has stuck with me this far, and onward to the next part of the adventure!**

**Also just as a warning, next chapter is going to be stupid long. I usually try to keep it around 3-4k but this one somehow reached a whopping 8k, the longest chapter I've ever written. Normally I would break it in half, but everything that happens really belongs to one cohesive unit, so I'm just going to drop a monster update once I'm done revising.**


	27. Chapter 27

**Brief warning: We're getting back into M territory with this chapter.**

**Chapter 27**

Thorin was gone before he woke up the next morning. Bilbo tried not to think about it as he sat in the kitchen, sipping his tea and turning the pages of his book with his free hand.

Brana put something on the table, and the smell of cinnamon was enough to make him look up. It was a bowl of oatmeal, with boiled apples, cinnamon, and a bit of their precious store of brown sugar.

He looked up. "What's this about?"

She patted his shoulder with a sympathetic smile. "You look like you could use something to cheer you up."

Bilbo frowned. "...Why?"

She shrugged and went to get the milk out of the fridge. "You always get depressed after Thorin leaves."

"I do not." Bilbo looked down at the bowl and mumbled, "Then I'd be depressed for half the year."

"What's depressed?" Gimli came into the kitchen and climbed into the seat next to his.

"It means he's sad," Glóin said, perched on the counter with a mug of coffee cradled in her hands.

Gimli turned to Bilbo, his eyes wide. "Why are you sad?"

Bilbo stuttered for a moment, then shoved a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth in lieu of a reply. With those big brown eyes, Gimli could ask for just about anything, but he wasn't sure he wanted to tackle his questions at the moment.

"I think he might be a little lonely." Brana set down a bowl of cereal in front of Gimli.

"Lonely?" Gimli looked back and forth between the two of them. "But we're all here."

Before Bilbo could say anything, Glóin added, "Yeah, but some people need a special friend. Don't you think Bilbo should have a special friend?"

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It is too early in the morning for this."

Almost everyone knew about him and Thorin at this point—it was the natural result of living in the same house for years. Occasionally they would tease him about it, though no one dropped hints as aggressively as Dís.

"What's a special friend?" Gimli asked.

Brana and Glóin exchanged a glance, and promptly broke down into laughter.

Bilbo was very close to leaving the room, but his oatmeal really did taste amazing, and he wanted to finish it before it got cold.

Gimli shrugged and reached over to pick up the doll lying on the seat next to him. He preferred this one over all of Kíli's old action figures, and seemed to have some sort of fascination with its silky blonde hair. He held it out to Bilbo. "You can hold onto Caty. So you're not lonely anymore."

He smiled. "Thank you, but you can keep her for now. I don't think—"

A cheer went up from the living room, followed by a strange cluster of sounds, startling all four of them.

Fíli bounced into the kitchen, Kíli on his heels. "I got it to work!"

"For real?" Glóin walked into the living room, and Bilbo realized that the strange sounds were coming from the TV speaker. The noise was incredibly foreign—the last thing he'd heard from a television had been news updates on the outbreak, and that had been years ago.

"Come on, Bilbo!" Kíli grabbed his arms and started pulling him out of his chair. "You promised you would play with us!"

"Did I? Play what? What's going on?" Bilbo stammered as Fíli took hold of his other arm. He only had a brief moment to mourn the loss of his oatmeal before he was being dragged into the living room.

The television was on, advertising some sort of colorful display—a video game, he realized. It had taken them a long while to find a working game system, and Fíli had spent hours tinkering with it and the television to get them both to work. And it seemed he'd finally succeeded.

Gimli came running in after them. "Can I play? Can I play?"

"Finish your breakfast first," Glóin said. She looked at the TV and nodded in approval. "You actually did it."

Bilbo was pulled onto the couch, sandwiched between the brothers, and barely managed to catch the remote control Kíli threw at him. "We're gonna play Smash!"

He looked down at the device in his hands. "…This has a lot of buttons."

"Don't worry about it," Fíli said. "Joystick to move, A and B to attack. That's pretty much all you need to know."

"I don't know what that means." He looked at Glóin for help, but she was busy convincing Gimli that the game would still be there once he'd finished his cereal.

Now the screen was different, displaying a grid of several strange-looking characters.

"You have to choose who you're going to play," Fíli explained. "Use the joystick. Like this."

"O-Okay." Bilbo moved his cursor to select a nice-looking blonde woman.

"Aw, Peach sucks!" Kíli exclaimed.

"W-What did I make the wrong choice? Should I choose a different one?"

"Nah, Peach is fine," Fíli said, though he was grinning slightly diabolically. "We're playing stock. You guys ready?"

"No."

"Yes!"

The screen changed again, and Bilbo recognized their characters on a series of platforms. Some unseen voice counted down from three, and then they all sprung into action.

"Oh, goodness, you punched me."

"Yeah, that's the point of the game!" Kíli cackled.

"Well, how do I punch you back?" Bilbo looked down at his controller. He pressed the button labeled A. "Did that do it?" He looked back up at the screen, but he couldn't see his character anymore.

"You're falling," Fíli said. He and Kíli were busy making their characters fight each other. "You gotta jump back up."

"Wha—how do I jump?"

"Too late. You died."

Bilbo looked at Glóin, who was leaning in the doorway and grinning. "Do you understand any of this?"

"Don't worry, you're doing great. You'll respawn in a few seconds."

Thirty seconds later, Bilbo was sitting in silent defeat, his character permanently banished from the screen while Fíli and Kíli dueled. In the end Fíli's character prevailed, while Kíli shouted in outrage.

"Alright, you can put Bilbo on your team," Fíli said. "And we'll play another round."

"I still don't know what's going on!"

"It's okay. I'll teach you." Kíli leaned over and went over the controls again, making it only slightly less confusing than it had been before.

They played another round, and Bilbo managed to last a whole minute this time. More people had gathered into the living room, including Gimli, who was clamoring for a turn with the controller.

As Bilbo watched the brothers fight across a green, hilly landscape, he realized they'd quite taken his mind off his sadness from earlier. Not that he'd been that sad.

But this—his family gathered together, laughing at something that wasn't real but entertaining all the same—this was enough. It was enough to have them happy, and together.

* * *

The town was tiny, most of the windows shattered like broken teeth, but Thorin slowed his vehicle anyway. Óin had requested a specific type of medicine for Gimli, in case he had any allergies they didn't know about, and so far he hadn't had any luck. His search had led him farther east than he'd been before, enough that the looming shape of the mountain rose in the distance.

He parked the car across the street from the pharmacy and ran a hand over his face. It had been a long day, most of it filled with a tedious drive through what seemed like endless farmlands.

He was tired. It had been long enough for him to finally admit it to himself, but it did nothing to quiet the buzzing restlessness beneath his skin.

He flipped down the sun visor, revealing the two pictures on the other side. The first was old, its edges crumpled and slightly faded with age, and he'd memorized every detail. The other was relatively new, one that he'd slipped from Ori's collage on the living room wall. Bilbo was in the center of the frame, mid-sentence as he read from the book in his lap. Kíli was slumped against his shoulder, fast asleep, while Fíli leaned against the back of the sofa, reading along with interest.

Not for the first time, his thoughts drifted back to that night beneath the oak tree. He and Bilbo had been on the edge of...something, but Bilbo hadn't chosen to continue whatever he'd been about to start. Perhaps that was for the best. It wouldn't be fair to him to ask for more, not when Thorin couldn't stay.

He took both photos, slipped them into his pocket, and stepped out of the car.

Empty bottles and debris were strewn across the floor of the pharmacy. Part of the roof had caved in, and a twisting green vine was creeping across the wall. The world was aging in a way it hadn't been allowed to before. It had been more than five years since the outbreak, and the remnants of the old world were beginning to crumble.

Hopefully there was still enough left to keep them going for a while longer.

The pharmacy yielded nothing in the way of the medicine he'd been looking for, but he did find an intact bottle of laundry detergent. He dropped it into his pack and headed out the back door to see what else he could find.

The smell of rot hit his nose, and Thorin instinctively drew his knife. A walker stumbled towards him, and he drove the blade into its skull.

More were coming—the alley was filled with them—and Thorin stepped back with a curse. He glanced behind him, but the alley ended in a dead end, the door at the end boarded up.

_Dammit_. Thorin stabbed another walker. If he could make it back to the pharmacy door, he would have a chance to escape. He drew his gun and began fighting with both weapons, but even so, the walkers continued to push him back.

A sharp whistle pierced the air. Thorin looked up and spotted a man waving to him from the fire escape to the right, across from the pharmacy.

"Over here! I'll drop the ladder!"

It was a relatively clear path to the fire escape. Thorin shoved a shoulder into the nearest walker, forcing it backwards, and made a break for it. Once he was close enough, the man dropped the ladder, and Thorin began climbing up. A walker grasped at his leg, but he jabbed a heel into its skull.

Breathing hard, he pulled himself the rest of the way up onto the fire escape. The two of them pried the ladder from the grasping walkers below and lifted it back up.

Thorin turned to the man who had helped him. He was short, with feathery black hair and a sort of twitchy nervousness about him. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." The man leaped through the window next to the fire escape, and Thorin climbed in after him.

The apartment inside looked relatively well-kept, if a little dirty. Part of the wall was peeling off, and broken glass from a picture frame was scattered across the carpet.

"Do you live here?"

"No, I'm just looting." The man walked into the kitchen and began going through the cabinets with practiced movements. "You?"

"Passing through." Thorin glanced out the window, where the walkers were still crowding in the alley below. He inspected the bookcase near the TV, but it only had cheesy romance novels.

"You wanna go through the building together?" The man was squatting next to one of the cabinets, bouncing on his heels slightly. "We split what we find and promise not to kill each other?"

Thorin paused and turned towards him. The man only had a knife on his belt, and he was small enough that he could be overpowered easily. "Fine. But we keep what we find."

"Sounds good." The man stood up, finished with the kitchen, and walked into the living room.

Thorin gestured for him to go first through the door. In general, he tried to stay away from other survivors, since there was too much risk involved in meeting other strangers, but this one had saved his life. He could give him the benefit of the doubt for now—and let him walk in front.

If the man was bothered by this arrangement, he didn't show it. He stepped through the door and made his way into the next apartment. "My friends call me Ro. At least, back when I had friends. You're the first person I've seen in a while."

He grunted and went to check the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. "Thorin."

"You wouldn't happen to have a crowbar on you, would you?"

"No." He stepped out of the bathroom to find him checking the kitchen again. Beneath the fabric of his baggy black shirt, Thorin could see thin wrists and bony shoulders. He considered the rations in his pack—he had enough for the trip back to the farm that he could spare a couple things.

"I've been looking for one forever," Ro continued. "But I haven't had any luck. It's a weird thing to disappear during the apocalypse."

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "Why do you need a crowbar?" It could kill a walker in a pinch, but there were better tools for the job.

"To get into things," Ro replied, as if that was the obvious answer (and maybe it was). Something about his clipped reply made Thorin think he wasn't telling the full truth, but he decided not to press the issue. "Anyway, if you find one, I'll trade you for it. I got a few batteries in my pack."

Thorin grunted again and went to check the next apartment.

The sweep went quickly, as it was clear someone had been through the building before them. They both found only a handful of supplies between them, but no crowbar and none of the medicine Thorin had been looking for.

"Maybe I'll try a home improvement store next, or something," Ro said as they headed down the stairs to the first floor. "Do you think they have—"

Thorin reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt as a walker appeared at the bottom of the stairs. More of them crowded forward, attracted by the sound of their voices and footsteps.

"Shit," Ro said. "I forgot to close the door when I came in."

"Go." Thorin pulled him back, towards the top of the stairs. "Get back to the fire escape."

The walkers were clumsy up the stairs, but they were moving fast. Thorin grabbed a potted plant from the hallway and shoved it down the stairs. It hit the walker in front, causing it to fall onto the two behind it.

Ro was already perched on the fire escape when Thorin made it back. He peered down at the alley. "There's still a lot of them out there."

There were fifteen by his count, but more were heading inside the apartment building. Thorin climbed through the window and pointed at the gray door across the alley. "The pharmacy should still be clear. We make it through that door, my car is on the other side."

"What about the walkers?"

"We'll have to fight our way through." Thorin made his way over to the ladder and prepared to lower it. "Just follow my lead."

When Ro nodded, he unhooked the ladder and carefully lowered it to the ground. The walkers would see them soon, but it would help if they made as little noise as possible. He climbed down and stabbed the nearest walker. Ro landed next to him and drew his own knife.

Thorin skirted around the crowd of walkers, keeping his senses sharp. Now he just had to make sure the other man didn't try anything stupid, like stab him during the confusion.

The walkers, attracted by the smell of fresh meat, turned away from the apartment building and began crowding towards them. Thorin drew his gun again and shot three in rapid succession. They were nearly at the door, but the walkers were crowding in from all sides.

One of them grabbed Ro, making him stumble and cry out. Thorin finished killing another, then turned and shot it in the head. He leapt for the door and swung it open, slamming it into an approaching walker.

"Get in, come on!"

He spent the last of his ammo firing at the walkers. Ro ducked past him and into the pharmacy, and Thorin slammed the door shut behind him.

"Oh, shit." Ro took several steps away from the door. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit."

Thorin stepped towards the front of the store, reloading in an almost automatic motion. The street between them and his car was clear, but that wouldn't last for long. "We need to go."

But Ro was crouched against the wall with his face pressed into his hands, muttering curses so quickly they began to blend together.

"Hey." Thorin took a step towards him. Dread settled heavy in his stomach.

With a choked noise, Ro pulled back the collar of his shirt. "Is it bad?"

On the back of his neck, right next to his shoulder, was a raw, bleeding wound. Even in the dim lighting of the pharmacy, he could recognize the teeth marks.

His voice caught in his throat. For a moment, all he could see was Ori, slumped and pale in the RV as blood leaked from his hand. He had leapt into action then, mostly on impulse and the desperate hope that they could save his life.

But there was nothing he could do for this kind of wound.

"Bad, huh?" Ro lifted his head and wiped the sweat from the bridge of his nose. "Shit."

"I'm sorry," Thorin said quietly.

"They really sneak up on you." He wrapped his arms around himself. "And you never think it's gonna be you, until it is."

Thorin struggled to speak for a moment. He'd watched people die before, had tried hard to save their lives, but this was different. "I can still take you out of here. We have time."

Ro shook his head. "There—There's nowhere I really wanna go. That I could reach, anyway." He rocked on his heels for a moment, then leaned forward on to his knees and slid his pack from his shoulders. "I'm gonna give you something."

"What?" Thorin tensed, his grip tightening around his gun, but all that he pulled from the pack was a strange package.

It was a large, zip-sealed bag with a number of papers crammed inside. Ro handed it to him, and Thorin tested the weight in his hand.

"I've been working on this for the past few years. They're notes."

"About what?"

Ro jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm sure you've seen the mountain over there." His eyes were bright, his previous panic forgotten. "There's a military base inside. Erebor. Apparently it was built to withstand a nuclear attack. They've got everything stockpiled in there—food, medicine, weapons."

Thorin stared at the package in his hands, hardly daring to breathe.

"But there's someone inside already, a man named Smaug. It's just him, as far as I could tell. He's a total pyromaniac, and he's been sitting on all those supplies since the outbreak started. I've been scoping the place out, trying to figure out a way in." He gestured to the papers. "I figured if all that stuff is there, someone might as well share it."

Thorin swallowed, finding his mouth to be suddenly dry. "Why are you giving this to me?"

"Well, it's not like I can really use it anymore." Ro shrugged, then winced. "You don't have to, either. But if that's the case, please try and pass it on to someone else. I spent years on everything that's in that bag, and I don't want it to be gathering dust on my corpse."

He finally looked over at the man. "I'll make sure these are put to good use."

"That's good." He gave a fleeting smile. "Maybe you'll have better luck than I did."

Thorin looked back at the papers. Something had cleared up just now, like a dirty window wiped clean of its grime. His heart began to beat faster.

"Just one more thing." Ro met his eyes and gave another weak smile. "Do you think I could borrow your gun?"

* * *

Fíli looked down at the bag of trail mix. "Hey, are you just eating all the chocolate?"

Wiping crumbs from his mouth, Kíli looked up at him innocently and shook his head.

"There's just peanuts in here." Scowling, Fíli dug through the bag, eventually fishing out a piece of candy. He popped it in his mouth and handed the bag of trail mix back to his brother.

The two of them were patrolling the fence around the farm. It had taken a lot of begging on Kíli's part to be allowed to come along, and Dís had made Fíli promise at least six times to be extra careful. Kíli even had a little knife on his belt, which he proudly wore even as Dís made _him_ promise not to use in except for emergencies.

Kíli noticed a squirrel scavenging near the base of the fence and threw a handful of peanuts in its direction.

"Hey, don't waste food," Fíli said.

"You don't say that when I feed Grim stuff."

"That's different. He's part of the family." It had taken him a while, but he'd finally begun to warm up to the big gray dog. It was actually kind of nice after a long day to sit back on the sofa and have Grim curl up next to him.

"Well, maybe I want this guy to be my pet." Kíli crouched down by the fence and offered another handful of nuts to the squirrel, but it only scampered away. As he stood up, he stiffened, and Fíli saw the walker stumbling through the trees a moment later.

"I got it." He picked up a rock and tapped it against the fence. Attracted by the noise, the walker began lumbering towards them. Fíli took out his gun and shot the walker in the head. The silencer on the end of the gun muffled the noise, and the gun only let out a low _crack_.

They watched in silence as the walker fell into the bushes.

"What's it like?" Kíli asked as they resumed walking. "Shooting a walker?"

Fíli shrugged. "I dunno. Not that interesting. I mean, it's already dead."

After a few moments of silence, Kíli asked, "Do you think we're ever gonna see other people? Like, living ones?" He glanced around at the shifting orange leaves outside the fence. "Sometimes it feels like we're the only people left in the world."

"I guess it's possible." He thought back to Azog's group with a shudder. At times he thought it was for the best that it was just their group.

"I just wish we had other people to hang out with. Kids our age." Kíli shook the bag of trail mix, looking for another piece of candy. "You remember that guy across the street that would skateboard with us?"

"Yeah. Bar…" Fíli squinted. "Bara…something. I don't remember his name."

"Me neither."

Fíli accepted the bag from Kíli, but just let it dangle from his hand. He used to go to Ered Luin Junior High. His family used to live on Lindon Street. Forty…five Lindon street. His old bedroom walls were painted green.

He didn't know why he kept trying to memorize these details. His old school was probably overrun with walkers. The kid across the street was probably dead.

"Do you think things are ever gonna go back to normal?" he asked. This was usually an off-limits subject, something the adults didn't really like to discuss, but he figured they were already talking about deep stuff.

"I don't know. I think it would be weird at this point." Kíli made a face. "Do you think they would make me go back to second grade?"

The image of Kíli sitting at one of those little desks made him laugh. He grabbed a handful of nuts and handed the bag back to Kíli. "No, 'cause you probably forgot stuff during the apocalypse. So they're gonna make you go back to kindergarten."

"No!" Kíli laughed along with him. "Uncle Bilbo's been teaching us stuff about books. So we're probably ahead."

"Yeah." His smile faded a little. When he'd been younger, he'd been so excited to go off to high school, to join new clubs and get his own locker. At this point, if things were still normal, he probably would have already graduated.

The walkie on his belt crackled. "_This is Thorin. I'll be at the gate in a minute_."

Fíli unclipped the walkie and raised it to his mouth. "I'm close to the gate. I'll get it."

They hurried along the rest of their route, and reached the gate just as Thorin drove up. As Fíli pulled open the gate, Kíli darted through and hopped in the passenger seat.

"Oh, come on." Fíli rolled his eyes, but waited until the car drove through, then closed the gate. He climbed into the back seat.

"…and then Fíli plugged it in again, and it worked! We played for like four hours, but then Mom said we could only keep playing if we helped clean the barn."

"Sounds like you two have been busy," Thorin said with a slight smile. He sounded pretty cheerful for once, and Fíli watched him closely through the rearview mirror.

Kíli pointed at a plastic bag full of paper resting on the dashboard. "What's that?"

"That's…" Thorin hesitated. "It's something important." He looked up to meet Fíli's eyes. "Where is everyone?"

"Most of them are in the house, I think. Dwalin, Ori, and Brana are working out back."

"Can you help me call everyone to the living room? I need to say something important."

"…Okay." Fíli cast one last glance at the bag of paper as Thorin parked the car, then climbed out. Kíli shot him a questioning, slightly worried glance, but Fíli only shrugged. He didn't know what could be so special about a bunch of papers, but if it put Thorin in a good mood, it couldn't be that bad.

It only took a few minutes to gather everyone in the living room. Thorin stood by the fireplace, holding the bag in both hands. If it had been anyone else, Fíli would have said that he looked nervous.

"Well, I think that's everyone." Balin glanced around the room. The entire group, including Beorn, was either standing or sitting, and most of them had their eyes trained on the papers. Grim paced the room with his tail wagging, as though he too could sense the tension. "Why don't you get started?"

"I found something," Thorin said, "while I was out. I ran into a man, who gave me this." He raised the papers. "This is reconnaissance over the last few years for a military base to the east. Erebor."

A slight shift swept through the room, as though a few of them recognized the name. It didn't ring any bells for Fíli, though. He glanced at Dís. She was standing by the door with her arms crossed, frowning.

"This base was built within the mountain," Thorin continued, gaining more confidence as he spoke. "Meant to withstand a nuclear attack. It's stocked with enough food, supplies, and weapons, to last us for years. And there's only one person living in there now. A man named Smaug."

"Let me guess." Nori leaned back in his chair and propped his feet against the sofa. "He's not gonna play nice if we just walk up and knock on the front door."

Thorin shook his head. "Most of these notes detail possible ways to break in. There's an air vent on the west side that—"

"Hang on a second." Bilbo held out a hand, stopping him. "Are you suggesting we break in and just…kill this man?"

Thorin looked at him for a couple of moments. "The world would be better off without him, and not just because he's hoarding these supplies for himself. He…He's a pyromaniac. He tortures people with fire and kills them." He opened the bag. "There are pictures—"

"Which you're _not_ going to show everyone," Brana said with a glance at her son. Gimli had bcome bored with the discussion, and was currently driving his toy train across the wall.

Thorin lowered the bag and looked around at the group. There was a strange brightness in his eyes that Fíli had never seen before. "This could be our chance. We take back this mountain, with only _one_ man standing in our way, we'll never have to worry about security again. We would have _walls_, not just wooden fences."

A few people glanced at Beorn, as though concerned he would be offended, but he only shrugged and said, "He's right. This military base would be much safer than the farm." He turned back to Thorin. "But I'm guessing it's not close."

"Less than a week if we drive. We wouldn't be able to fit everyone in the cars, but—"

"You won't have to." Glóin looked at him flatly. "You can count us out. My son is safe here. I'm not risking the journey to some mountain we don't even know about." Brana gave a small nod of agreement.

Gimli lowered his train and looked up. "Are we going somewhere?"

"No, we're not." Glóin stood up, took his hand, and left the room.

Thorin watched them go, a slight furrow in his brow. He looked as if he'd expected this, but Fíli felt the sudden urge to defend him. He straightened and said, "I'm coming with you."

"Like hell you are," Dís said. She stood up and rounded on Thorin. "You seriously need to let this go. We've lived on this farm for almost five years now, and we've been doing fine. Why the hell would we leave this to go after some psycho living in a military base?"

"Because we would never have to _leave_ again," Thorin said. "You know what's keeping you all safe here? It's not the damn fences. It's been _luck_. And it's only a matter of time before it runs out like it did at the warehouse." He looked around at them, his eyes flashing. "You've all forgotten what it's like out there, but I haven't. If we settle for this place, we've already lost."

Fíli let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. His fists were clenched so tightly they were starting to hurt. He had to remind himself that he was in the farmhouse, in their living room, not out in the snowy ground outside the warehouse.

The man had come out of nowhere, clapped a hand over his mouth and dragged him off. And every second after that, surrounded by leering men and that vicious, snarling dog, he'd kicked himself for being so _stupid,_ for thinking the world was safe when it really wasn't.

"He's right," he said, blinking back sudden tears. He needed to be strong if he was going to make his point. He stood up and looked around as everyone turned towards him. "It only takes one mistake, and then everything falls apart. I-I don't want that to happen again." He glanced at the abandoned toy train on the floor. "I don't want anything to happen to Gimli. He deserves to grow up in a place where he can't get hurt."

Silence rang through the room. Thorin caught his eye and gave him a slight nod, that same look in his eyes that had been there after the warehouse—an apology he didn't know how to say.

"I think it's a good idea," Nori said, still slouched in his seat like they were discussing what to have for dinner. "Military base is probably the smartest place we can stay for now."

After a moment, Bilbo said, "I think so, too." He met Thorin's gaze, a slight furrow in his brow. "You've led us this far. If you think this place is our best bet, then I'll come with you."

Thorin nodded, the tension in his expression slipping into warmth. He looked around at the others. When no one else spoke, he said, "I'm not asking everyone to make a decision at this moment. I know you probably need time to think." He took a deep breath. "I'm leaving for Erebor in two days, and whoever wants to come can join me."

People began to trickle out of the room, until it was just Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, and their parents.

"You're not doing this," Dís said before Fíli could say anything. "I am not letting you go out there—"

"Why not?" Fíli spread his hands. "And don't say it's because I'm too young. I'll be eighteen in a few months."

"It's too dangerous." She shook her head. "I don't want any of you going out there, but _some people_," she shot a glare at Thorin, "just don't want to give it up."

Thorin said nothing, just crossed his arms with the bag held in one hand.

"I'm doing what I think is right," Fíli said. He shrugged. "Maybe it is dangerous. But maybe we could all die tomorrow. We don't know what's going to happen, but I-I wanna try for something better."

Dís stared at him, and it was written all over her face that she remembered that night as clearly as he did. Before she could speak, Víli put a hand on her shoulder.

"He knows what he wants," he said quietly. "And he's old enough to make his own decisions. God knows he's earned it." He met Fíli's eyes. "I'll make sure nothing bad happens to him."

"Well, can I go too?" Kíli asked.

"No," all three of them said at the same time.

"Why not?" Kíli glared at Fíli, then at their parents. "Why does Fíli get to go and not me?"

"We are not having this discussion," Dís said. "You're too young."

Kíli's face twisted, and he turned and stormed out of the room. Fíli wanted to follow him, but his feet were rooted to the spot. He felt as if he'd crossed a line somehow, but he wasn't sure he wanted to go back.

Dís lowered her head and massaged her temples. "I'm not saying yes," she said after a while. "Just give me time to think."

Víli squeezed her shoulder with a slight smile. "Sure, hon."

She cast one last glare in Thorin's direction, a mixture of anger and hurt, then left the room.

Víli crossed the room and put an arm around Fíli's shoulders. "You remember that time I promised we were gonna road trip to the Gulf of Lune?"

Fíli realized he was shaking slightly, and tried to be still. "Yeah." That had been the summer before the outbreak. Víli had gotten a promotion at his job soon after, and had been too busy to travel, so they'd postponed the trip for next year.

"I don't think we're gonna get there anytime soon. But maybe this'll make up for it."

Despite himself, Fíli smiled.

* * *

That night, Bilbo was curled up on the sofa in the hayloft, another book in his lap. The night was quiet, with only the low rustle of trees outside breaking the silence. He still had another hundred pages to go, but he wanted to finish the book—and get in some last few moments of relaxation—before he had to leave.

It had been a shock to see Thorin striding in, a new energy to his movements, and declare that there was somewhere safer out there, something the rest of them had long given up. Back when they'd been on the road, the idea of thick stone walls would have been too good to pass up. But after living on the farm for so many years, having something close to safety, the idea of wandering back out there wasn't so appealing anymore.

In truth, they'd had some close calls on the farm, between walker buildups at the fence and a near-disastrous fire in the basement. And Fíli was right—it would only take a moment for everything to fall apart, like it had back at the warehouse. At least being holed away in some military bunker would better prepare them for that eventuality.

And a small part of him hoped that if they were successful in taking Erebor, Thorin would finally be able to settle down, and spend more time with the rest of them.

As if he had been summoned by Bilbo's thoughts, Thorin pushed open the trapdoor to the hayloft and climbed in, the packet of papers held in his free hand. When he caught sight of Bilbo, he paused.

"Sorry. I didn't realize anyone was up here."

Bilbo shrugged. "Just enjoying a good book. You're free to join me."

Thorin crossed the room and sat next to him. The couch cushions dipped slightly as he settled in, and Bilbo determinedly went back to his book. They spent the next few minutes in silence, the only sound the rustle of the papers in Thorin's hands.

There was a quiet domesticity about it that made him smile slightly. For a moment, Bilbo could pretend that they did this every night, that it was only a newspaper in Thorin's hands and this would be their routine for the next twenty years.

"I want to thank you." Thorin's quiet voice drew him out of his thoughts. "For saying you'll come with me. It…It means a lot to know you're willing to do that."

Bilbo looked up from his book and smiled softly. "You know, I really do believe in what you're trying to do here. I don't think any of us would be here if it wasn't for you. And when it comes down to it, I trust you. If you think we need to take this place, then I'll be there with you."

Thorin held his gaze. There was a distant sadness mixed in with something else. After a moment, he looked down at the papers in his lap. "I never told you, but…I've been inside Erebor before."

"When you were in the military?"

He shook his head. "My father was an officer when I was young. He was stationed in Erebor, and…that's where I grew up." Thorin shifted and withdrew a photograph from his pocket. There were several small tears along the edges and it was faded in some places, but the image was still clear. Bilbo took the photograph and held it up to get a better look.

Standing in the center of the photograph was a man with a strong brow and dark hair. Next to him was a woman with a familiar sharp nose, and in her arms was a girl, no more than three years old, her dark curly hair done up in pigtails. Standing in front of the man and woman was a boy that was clearly a younger Thorin, his face almost comically stoic even as a child. So that meant the little girl was Dís, but...

Bilbo ran a thumb over the remaining figure in the picture, a younger boy who had his arm wrapped around Thorin's shoulders and a bright grin on his face. "Who's this?"

"Frerin." Thorin's voice was quiet, but thick with emotion. "My younger brother."

"Oh." Bilbo didn't ask what had happened to him. In this world, there was really only one answer to that question.

"He died before the outbreak. He was killed in action, the day after his twenty-first birthday."

"Oh, Thorin." A wave of grief swept over him, likely only a fraction of what Thorin was feeling. "I'm so sorry."

"In a way, I'm glad he didn't have to go through what we're living now." Thorin accepted the photograph as Bilbo handed it back to him. "But there are times I wish he was…still with us."

Bilbo reached out and took Thorin's hand in both of his. He wanted nothing more than to take this burden from him, this grief that he'd been carrying around for years, but all he really could do at the moment was hold on. "I think he would be proud to see what you've done in this new world. And I'm sorry I never got the chance to meet him."

"He would have liked you," Thorin said, a small smile quirking on his face even as he blinked back tears.

Bilbo squeezed his hand, feeling warm skin mold against his. "Thank you for sharing this with me."

Thorin met his eyes again. The mask he usually wore, the steady impassiveness he bore like armor, was completely gone. "I'm glad that I did."

Bilbo released his hand, but moved so he was leaning against him, and their shoulders were pressed together. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, then Thorin picked up his papers, and Bilbo went back to his book.

It was strange, the histories that each of them kept inside themselves, privy only to a few.

That would probably make a good line for a book, Bilbo thought. He was trying to get into the habit of writing those down, though he didn't have a pen at the moment, and he wasn't really inclined to get up and go look for one.

Thorin shuffled the papers in his hands. From the few glances Bilbo had taken, they seemed mostly to be notes, photographs, and a few maps. "Getting there should be easy," he said, seemingly to himself. "It's finding a way in that's going to be difficult."

"I'm sure we'll figure something out." Bilbo patted his leg and turned back to his book, though he found his mind wandering again.

In all the years they'd been staying at the farm, he hadn't once started writing his own story that he'd been planning out before. He'd just never found the time, or even the courage, to start putting words down on paper.

And now, there was the possibility that he would never get the chance. Bilbo made a silent promise to himself that, once they were settled down—in Erebor or wherever they ended up—he would see about finding a typewriter and write his own book from start to finish.

A steady heat was radiating into his palm, and Bilbo looked over to see that his hand was still resting on Thorin's thigh, too high up to be passed off for a friendly gesture.

Mortification washed over him. He tried to pull away, but Thorin put a hand over his, stopping him.

Bilbo looked up, heat trickling into his cheeks. Thorin was giving him that same look, open and vulnerable, his eyes the clearest blue they'd ever been. There was warmth there, and affection, and a silent message: _It's okay_.

It didn't feel like an impulsive decision now, or something he'd been anticipating for months. Right now, this moment, felt entirely natural, as though he'd been riding down a river and his vessel had finally bumped against land, prompting him to the destination he'd been meant to reach all along.

He reached up, placing his free hand on the back of Thorin's neck, and kissed him.

Thorin responded immediately, kissing him back as his arm wound around Bilbo's shoulders. He had imagined this moment many times before, but all of his preconceptions and anticipations were gone from his mind now. Everything around him was so essentially _Thorin_—the gentle prickle of his beard, the sharp ridge of his nose nudging against Bilbo's, the gentle pressure of his lips, gradually becoming more insistent as they kissed.

His pulse was racing, but he hardly noticed. It felt as though liquid light was racing through his veins. He opened his mouth, letting his tongue slide across Thorin's lower lip.

Thorin was grasping at him, one hand sliding down the length of his spine—_lower_—moving down the back of his thigh and leaving a trail of heat in its wake, and finally hooking around the back of his knee. He tugged upwards and Bilbo, realizing what he wanted to do, eagerly changed his position.

They broke apart only long enough for Bilbo to settle on top of him, his knees on either side of Thorin's hips. And then he was leaning in again, reveling at the angle this new position provided, at the taste of him, all of it.

Thorin's hands were moving again, finding the hem of his shirt and then sliding beneath the thin fabric. The sensation of his callused palms on his skin was enough to make him take a heated, gasping breath.

In retalation, Bilbo ducked his head and pressed a kiss to Thorin's neck, just below his jaw. His beard tickled his cheek, but he kept going, sucking on the skin lightly before moving onto another, lower spot. Thorin was breathing hard, clutching Bilbo's hips. His desire was coiling in the pit of his stomach, and swelling below, making his pants rather uncomfortably tight. He shifted again, the movement assisted by Thorin's grip on him, and pressed his hips forward so—

The loft door opened with a bang. Bilbo jumped, turning to see who it was, and fell off Thorin's lap with a yelp.

Glóin and Brana had come up the ladder, but they were a bit too focused on making out to notice much around them. Thorin cleared his throat, loudly.

They both turned to look at them. A slow smile spread on Brana's lips. "If you let us have the loft, we won't tell anyone what we saw up here."

"Go to hell," Thorin said.

She was grinning by now, and Glóin was smirking as well. "Alright. Have fun, you two." They climbed back down the ladder, both of them giggling softly.

"I'm blocking the door." With a low groan, Thorin stood up and crossed the room. He took a wooden trunk they used to store supplies and dragged it over the trapdoor.

While he was busy with that, Bilbo lifted himself back onto the sofa. He was acutely aware of how hot he was, and wondered if his face was red. He could still feel the leftover tingle of Thorin's beard on his skin. As Thorin walked back towards him, he took a moment to appreciate his strong thighs, and the muscles visible even beneath his loose black shirt. It felt nice to not have to hide his staring.

"Are you okay?" Thorin sat down next to him with a sigh.

"Yeah. I don't think falling like that did any favors for my tailbone, though," Bilbo said with a slight wince.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Thorin's hand landed on the back of his neck, slowly sliding downwards.

The simple touch was enough to send sparks of pleasure trailing down his spine, but Bilbo forced himself to say, "Wait."

Thorin pulled his hand back, and a note of hesitance entered his voice. "What is it?"

"I just need to know." Bilbo lowered his gaze to his hands, wondering if he was being paranoid. But he wanted to clear things up before they went any further. "What we were just doing…was that just physical? I mean, obviously it was physical, but I just want to know if there's anything more to it."

"I would like there to be," Thorin said softly. He leaned closer, and when Bilbo looked up, he kissed him again. It was softer this time, just a gentle, brief touch, but it made something warm and light expand in his chest.

"Good," Bilbo said, smiling as they pulled apart. "I feel the same way. I…I've wanted this for a long time."

Thorin stared at him for a long moment, his expression softening, and Bilbo began to worry that he hadn't made his intentions entirely clear.

"I still want to have sex with you, though."

"Yeah, so do I." Thorin closed the distance between them again, kissing him soundly. Bilbo wrapped his arms around Thorin's neck and leaned back, pulling him with him. Once they were both situated, he reached down and slipped a hand beneath Thorin's shirt, running his hand over the solid muscle beneath.

Thorin broke the kiss, his breath coming in a ragged pant. "Do you still have the condoms?"

"What condoms?"

"The ones you picked up at that drugstore, when we were traveling through the mountains. It's been a while, but…"

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You remember that? I threw them back on the shelf, actually."

His brows lowered. "So you weren't...you weren't using them with anyone else?"

Bilbo's eyes widened. "Wait, were you jealous?"

"I just misread the situation," Thorin mumbled, shifting as if he wanted to pull away, but Bilbo stopped him with one hand on either side of his face.

"The only person I would have wanted to use them with was you." He pulled him down for a kiss. "We were just really bad at communicating."

"Then we have a lot to make up for." Thorin rolled his hips, reminding Bilbo that they were both still very hard.

"Wait—Wait," he said in between gasps. "We still don't have any condoms."

"I don't mind." His gaze was half-lustful, half-attentive. "If it's alright with you."

"No, I don't mind either." He smiled. "It's the end of the world, after all. I think we can go without."

"As long as I have you." Thorin kissed him again, and Bilbo pulled him closer, reveling in the heat and closeness that existed between them.

**Alternate title for this chapter is: Ever done it in a hayloft?**

**So yeah, this was obviously a big chapter with a lot of major developments...I'll be interested to see what your thoughts are on Thorin's decisions, and what you think is going to happen next.**

**And we have our first Fili POV! Let me know what you think of that too; Fili is a little closer in age to me, but this is my first time ever writing from his perspective.**


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Thorin woke with a warm weight on his chest. He blinked, taking a moment to orient himself, and he recognized the interior of the hayloft, illuminated by shafts of clear light coming from the far window. He lowered his gaze and smiled.

Bilbo was still asleep, his head resting on Thorin's shoulder and one arm draped over his chest. Memories of the previous night trickled back, bringing with them heat and pleasure. It almost didn't feel real, to have Bilbo so close to him after so much time spent longing for it.

He lifted one hand and ran it up his side, over the bare skin of his shoulder, then brought it down on his soft curls, gently stroking the skin just above his ear.

Bilbo murmured something under his breath and shifted, though there wasn't much room to move, as his body was wedged between Thorin's and the back of the couch. In hindsight, they'd chosen a rather cramped place to sleep (among other things), but they couldn't really be selective with the limited supply of beds on the farm. Neither of them had wanted to wait, anyway.

After another minute, Bilbo opened his eyes and blinked sleepily. It also took him a minute to register his surroundings, and then his lips curved into a smile. Thorin savored the image, wishing he could hold onto it like one of the photographs in his pocket.

"Good morning." Bilbo let out a contented sigh, then stretched out his arm and placed his hand on Thorin's chest. His fingers were cool, and sent a trail of shivers across his skin.

"Are you cold?" The autumn mornings were less forgiving now, and seeing as the barn didn't have any insulation, the chill had seeped into the hayloft overnight.

"A little. This certainly helps, though." His fingers were absently tracing patterns across Thorin's skin, the light touch sending tingles throughout his body. He lifted his head and glanced at their discarded clothing on the floor. "We are going to have the worst walk of shame."

"Everyone's probably still asleep. We could sneak upstairs before they notice."

"Yeah." Bilbo propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze shifting to the side. "And we're probably going to have to flip the couch cushions over."

They both broke down into laughter, giddy and relaxed all at the same time.

Thorin sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the couch and massaging his arm to get some feeling back into it.

Behind him, Bilbo sat up as well. With a sigh, he flopped back against the cushions. "So…"

Thorin sat back and turned to look at him. "So?"

Bilbo was searching his face, his expression strangely vulnerable. "Did you mean everything you said last night?"

"Yes. And I'd feel the same even if you'd decided to stay behind. I...I think about you, every second I'm away."

"Well, that's funny. Because every time you leave, I find myself thinking about _you_." A smile twitched on the corners of his lips, even as warmth filled his gaze.

Thorin couldn't help himself. He leaned over and kissed him until heat burned away the lingering chill on his skin.

Eventually, Bilbo put a hand on his chest and gently broke the kiss. "Let's not get too carried away."

"Alright." Tempted as he was, they would have to leave soon if they were going to make it into the house unnoticed. Besides that, there was still work to be done for the day, preparations to be made before…

The thought of Erebor was enough to sober him up somewhat. He glanced at the papers, lying discarded on the floor. They still had a journey to make.

They dressed quickly and flipped the couch cushions over, sharing conspiratorial smiles like they were teens again. Thorin moved the trunk off the trap door, and they descended the ladder together. It was still early morning, and their footsteps left green footprints through the dewy grass as they hurried, hand in hand, towards the house.

"I think I've got a change of clothes in the upstairs closet," Bilbo whispered to him as they crept through the backdoor. "So if you want to—"

A burst of applause made them both jump. Dwalin, Glóin, Óin, and Nori were already awake and sitting at the kitchen table.

"Nice work, you two," Dwalin said as he and Glóin continued to clap. "Finally!"

Óin glanced between the two of them, confusion scrunching his brow. "What's going on, now?"

Nori lifted his portable radio above his head as "We Are the Champions" started to play.

"Oh, fuck off." His face flushing, Bilbo grabbed Thorin's wrist and pulled him through the kitchen and up the stairs.

"Well, I guess that's been taken care of," Thorin said as they reached the top of the stairs. "Telling the others, I mean."

"They've probably been making bets, too." Bilbo began rifling through the closet, pulling out a clean pair of pants.

One of the bedroom doors opened, and Kíli stuck his head out, his hair falling into his face. "What's going on?"

"Just Nori being an idiot," Bilbo said. "Go back to sleep."

Yawning, Kíli closed the door.

Thorin gestured to the bathroom door. "You can take the shower first. I'll wait."

"I actually have a better idea." Bilbo finally wrestled a clean shirt from the closet and stood up. "Since we really should be trying to save water, you know."

He raised an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

A mischevious smile grew on his lips. He grabbed the front of Thorin's shirt with one hand, pulling him closer, and pushed the bathroom door open with the other. "I think you know already."

* * *

That afternoon, Bilbo was seated on the living room floor with Grim's head in his lap, gently brushing the mats from his neck. It was a rather tedious task considering the size of him, and more often than not produced a sizeable quantity of loose hair, but there was something relaxing about it, even as his mind wandered.

They were leaving tomorrow. Thorin had been busy for most of the day, gathering supplies and making sure the cars were fully operational. Dwalin and Bifur had agreed to accompany them as well, and Óin had joined them on the assumption that they were more likely to need a doctor nearby. Bombur and Bofur had also joined in, more to keep an eye on their cousin than anything else, which put their group at ten.

Although Bilbo had no intention of backing out, he couldn't help the buzzing anxiety that crept up every time he thought about leaving. There was more uncertainty in this venture than they'd had in the past four years, and he'd done his best to distract himself from it—hence why he was currently sitting in a pile of dog hair.

"How long have you been at it?" Dís walked into the room and sat down at the base of the couch, propping her elbows on her bent knees.

"Only half an hour. But I haven't even started on his left side yet." He smiled as Grim licked his hand. "I know. It's not your fault you've got such a big, fluffy coat."

"You seem like you're in a good mood." Dís sighed and stretched her legs out. "Married life treating you well?"

"Wha—married?" He looked up and rolled his eyes at her wide grin, even as heat simmered on his cheeks. "Come on. It's been a day—not even."

"Yeah, but you two have known each other way longer than that." She pressed her palms over her eyes. "God, I can't believe it took you guys almost five years to actually get it on."

Bilbo huffed and dropped another clump of dog hair onto the carpet. "We both had our reasons."

"Which were that you were both repressed idiots with a master's degree in miscommunication?"

"Something like that." His blush deepened. "Anyway, now you can stop teasing me about it."

"No way." She nudged his leg with her foot. "Thorin can tell you I never stop teasing my big brothers." She smirked. "And Víli still owes me a six pack of soda."

"So you _were_ making bets. Unbelievable." But he couldn't keep the smile off his face. It was reassuring to have everything between him and Thorin out in the open. Though he'd considered himself part of the family for a while now, this new development made him feel even closer to all of them.

He just hoped this business with Erebor wouldn't end up tearing it all apart. That thought was enough to douse his cheer somewhat. He cast a quick glance at Dís, who seemed to be in a good enough mood now despite her earlier anger at Thorin's proposal.

"How, um…how are you feeling? About tomorrow?"

Her smile evaporated as well, and she drew one knee up to her chest. "The same as I did yesterday. I mean, you're all adults. If you want to run off on some crazy suicide mission to invade a mountain, that is well within your rights." She swallowed, her gaze fixed on the carpet. "I just don't know what to do about Fíli. I-I mean, it's not safe for him to go out there. But how can I say that to him, after I let him get…"

The memory of the warehouse swept through the room like a chilly breeze. "That wasn't your fault," Bilbo said softly. "We didn't know what was out there. We couldn't have known."

"But now we do. How do I know if sending him out there is the wrong choice?" She smiled bitterly. "Maybe Thorin was right. We've been living a lie all these years. Making choices isn't supposed to be fucking easy anymore."

"He won't be alone this time. You know we'd all do anything to keep him safe." Absently, he touched the edge of the scars on his shoulder. "We all know better than we did back then."

"And that still might not be enough." She frowned. "I wish I could give him this. I-I want him to be able to try for more, to not just be stuck here fearing for his life."

"But you're still afraid," Bilbo said softly. "I understand that."

Dís finally looked up at him. "You know, Thorin really cares about you, what you think. You could talk him out of this."

"I-I don't think I could." He shook his head, brow furrowing. That was a gray area that even now he was afraid to touch. "And I'm not sure that I want to. I mean, I care about what Thorin thinks too, and I really believe in him. I think we need this. And I know what it means to him."

A veil of sadness fell over her gaze. "He told you about Frerin."

Bilbo nodded, a lump building in the back of his throat. Dís had lost a brother, too. "I'm sorry."

She sighed, absently picking at the seam on her jeans. "You know, Thorin wasn't even there when he…when he died. And he still blames himself. I think our father kind of blamed him, too."

"Why would he do that?"

"It was… Our grandfather was sick, and Dad had to take care of that along with work, and our mom passed away while we were young, so it kind of fell to Thorin to look after the rest of us. And he was always so responsible, he never complained, so I think Dad forgot sometimes how young he was."

He frowned as he thought back to what Thorin had told him before, that his father had been the one to push him to join the military. He was beginning to dislike this man, even though they'd never even met.

"I think Thorin was always kind of wired that way, though—to be looking out for other people. He took it really hard after Frerin died. He was…" She smiled as tears filled her eyes. "He was the best of us. Nicest guy you'll ever meet. He could make anyone smile. I-It wasn't fair that it had to be him."

Grim stood up and sat down next to Dís, resting his head on her leg. Bilbo followed suit, moving to her other side and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. He didn't know what to say that would be anything more than an empty consolation, but he hoped this silent comfort would help a little.

After a minute, she sniffled and wiped a hand across her cheek. "Thanks. I don't know why I'm so…I haven't cried over him in years."

"I'm here for you," Bilbo said softly.

"Thank you." She leaned against his shoulder and sighed. "You know, I don't have that many memories of Erebor. I was pretty young when we moved out. I-I couldn't even tell you what my bedroom looked like. Mostly, I just remember the people. Dad and Thorin and Frerin."

"But he remembers," Bilbo said. He could see as much in the light that shone in Thorin's eyes when he talked about the mountain.

"Yeah. I think he's trying to get back there, not just to the mountain, but the way things used to be. I get that he needs this. I just wish it wasn't…"

Bilbo nodded. "There's dead people walking about and god knows what else."

She snorted a watery laugh. "Exactly." She dried her face with her sleeve. "I want him to be happy. And I think he's lucky to have you."

A smile curved his lips. "If nothing else, I'll be there to talk him out of doing anything particularly stupid."

"And thank god for that." Dís stood up and stretched. "I'm gonna get some air. You'd better finish up with Grim, though. He looks like some kind of canine Two-Face."

Bilbo glance over at the dog, who was looking up at him with one side nicely groomed and the other tangled and mussed up from lying on the carpet. Despite the heaviness in his heart, he leaned back and laughed until his stomach hurt.

* * *

Fíli watched as Nori handed Thorin a bag of guns, which he placed in the trunk of the van. It was early morning, and they were nearly finished packing. His own backpack was still waiting on the porch. He'd filled it last night in a fit of determination, but now, at the moment they were supposed to leave, he found himself hesitating. Dís still hadn't given him permission to go, and he was torn between not needing it and wanting it anyway.

Balin rubbed his hands together. "Is that everything, then?" He and Ori had volunteered to go as well, to look out for their respective brothers. Between the van, which they were loading up with supplies, and the smaller car, they would have just enough room for everyone.

"I think so." Thorin closed the trunk and looked around. "Is everyone here?"

Bifur, who had been silently counting the group outside, shook his head. "I don't see Víli." He cast a questioning glance at Fíli. "If you two are still coming."

Fíli hesitated, but before he could answer, the front door swung open. He turned around hopefully, but it was only Glóin and Gimli.

"You guys are leaving early," she said, leaning against the railing.

"I want to cover some ground while it's still light out," Thorin said. "And pick up some supplies a few towns over."

Gimli leaned close to his mother, a small frown on his face. He was too young to really understand what was happening, but he clearly knew that most of his family was leaving. This was possibly the last time he would see some of them. Fíli tried not to think about that.

The door opened again, and his parents walked out. Víli waved to the group by the cars. "You got any seats left?"

He went to put his pack in the car, while Dís walked towards him and squeezed his shoulder. "You ready to go?" She was smiling, but there was an unmistakable sadness in her eyes.

Fíli swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat and said, "Yeah."

"I'm so proud of you." She cupped his face in her hands. "And I have faith in you. I've seen what you can do, how brave and smart you are. You just keep yourself safe." She smiled wryly. "And keep your dad out of trouble."

Fíli nodded. "I will."

Dís pulled him into a hug, and he clung to her, willing himself not to cry.

Víli returned as they pulled apart, and patted him on the back. "I'll bring him back," he said to her.

"_Both_ of you better come back." Dís kissed him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I love you."

"I love you, too," they both echoed.

"I thought Kíli would want to say goodbye." Víli looked around. "Where is he?"

"Probably sulking upstairs," Dís said.

"Nope, he's in the trunk," Nori called. They turned in time to see Kíli climb out of the back of the car, scowling.

"Jesus," Dís muttered, marching towards him. "Are you kidding me?"

Kíli spread his hands. "Why can't I go too?"

"You are too young. This is _not_ up for discussion." She reached out for him, but he dodged her hand.

"When Fíli was my age, he was shooting a gun and killing walkers!"

"That was different, we were on the road! We all just want you to be safe—Kíli!"

He stormed off and disappeared around the house. Fíli sighed and ran after him.

"Kíli!"

He didn't have to go far before he found him, crouched on the backdoor steps. Kíli didn't look at him, his arms crossed over his knees.

"I'm sorry." Fíli sat down next to him. "I know you want to go, but we all just want you to be safe. That's why you have to stay behind."

Kíli turned away. "Everyone's leaving me."

"Mom's staying with you."

"Yeah, but you're not."

Fíli looked down at his hands. This would be the first time they would be separated in years. Back at the start of the outbreak, when it had just been the two of them, he had been absolutely terrified. The only reason he'd been able to hold it together for so long was that he'd had to protect his brother. Losing him at the motel, even for those two short days, had felt like the very earth had been torn from beneath his feet. And back at the warehouse, when he'd been taken, he had thought even through the terror that having Kíli with him would make him a little braver.

"Kíli," he said hoarsely. "I wish…I wish I didn't have to leave." But at the same time, he knew he had to. He wondered if this was how Thorin felt every time he drove away. "But I…I'm not afraid. I know that it'll be okay, because you'll still be here."

Kíli looked up at him, doubt still crumpled on his face.

"You can help protect this place for when we get back. And you can…you can show Gimli how to be brave. He needs a big cousin around, okay?"

"I guess." Kíli looked down at his shoes. "Promise you'll come back?"

"Yeah," he said, though his mouth went dry immediately after, like even his body could sense the emptiness of the promise. "And while I'm gone, you should practice at Smash. Then maybe you'll finally be able to beat me."

A smile brightened his face. "You're on."

He leaned to the side, wrapping his arms around Fíli's waist, and Fíli hugged him back. "I'll see you soon."

"Bye, Fíli."

After a few more seconds, he forced himself to stand up and walk around the house. Everyone was already in the cars except for Thorin, who was standing by the driver's side door, looking impatient. His expression softened slightly as he caught sight of Fíli.

"Still coming?"

"Yeah," he said, and cleared his throat. He grabbed his pack, forced himself to wave goodbye to Dís, and climbed into the car next to his dad.

A few moments later, the car rumbled to life, and they began the drive towards the front gate. Fíli turned around and watched the house until it disappeared between the trees.

**A few people wanted Kili to come along, and as much as I wanted to have him go (I initially planned for everyone to make the trip to Erebor), it just wouldn't be in character for anyone to let the kids go on a dangerous mission. So I had to shuffle a few things around, but we'll see them all again.**


	29. Chapter 29

**Just a heads up, there is a pretty steamy scene towards the end (that hopefully stays within the M-rating boundaries). I think Demons by Fatboy Slim is a pretty good song for that last part (yeah I got it from That Scene in Sense8 haha). Anyways, give it a listen, set the mood, and enjoy!**

**Chapter 29**

They stopped in a small town nearby to collect supplies. Thorin had stashed a collection of guns and other weapons in one of the buildings, so they would be able to arm themselves if they were ever forced off the farm.

Bilbo found his eyes wandering more than once as they parked in the middle of the empty street. It had been so long since he'd seen anything but the farm and the surrounding land. Everything seemed more dilapidated now than it had been before—ivy had almost completely taken over the facade of one building, and the broken windowpanes were covered in a layer of grime.

"I need three with me, to get the weapons," Thorin said as he stepped out of the car. "The rest of you, keep watch here."

Dwalin, Bombur, and Bilbo followed him into a nearby building, what appeared to be a small playhouse.

"Let's search the place first," Thorin said. "I haven't been here in a while."

He and Dwalin went to check the stage area, while Bilbo and Bombur ventured towards the back rooms.

"It's been so long since I've done this," Bilbo said softly. "Patrolling the fence is one thing, but…"

Bombur hummed in agreement. "I get what you mean." He pushed open one of the doors, revealing some kind of office, but the interior was dark and silent. "I don't remember being this creeped out, either."

The next two rooms were empty as well. At the end of the hall was a small, dusty room stuffed with props: hats, wigs, small pieces of furniture, and several racks of clothing.

"This might be a good place to hide weapons," Bombur said. "If you know where to look."

"I don't know." Bilbo picked up a plastic knife, the blade of which retracted into the handle when pushed. "If a walker came in here, I wouldn't want to be confusing fake weapons with the real ones."

"Hmm." Bombur picked up a long, red wig. "This seems like my color, doesn't it?"

"Are you thinking about growing your hair out?"

"Maybe. Or…" He shifted the wig so it was hanging from his chin. "Wouldn't this be a good look? I'd probably have to braid it so it doesn't get in the way."

Bilbo snickered. "I think it would look great on you."

Bombur draped the wig over a chair and picked up a pair of round, thick-rimmed glasses. He put them on and looked at himself in the mirror. "Wow, someone had an intense prescription."

Minutes later, Bombur was trying on a horned helmet that was slightly too small for his head while Bilbo examined his new outfit in the mirror. He'd put on a green waistcoat and a musty tweed coat. He held up an old-timey pipe to his face.

"You look like a psychiatrist," Bombur said. "Or maybe a professor."

"I thought about it for a while," Bilbo said, rubbing his chin. "Continuing my education, teaching at the university. But I thought I was—"

The door creaked open and they both froze, hands going for their guns. Dwalin stepped inside and raised an eyebrow.

"I was beginning to think you two died, or something."

Thorin leaned in as well, his expression hovering between impatient and amused. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah." Bilbo blushed and shrugged off the jacket. "We just got a bit distracted."

"You can play dress up once we have the guns," Dwalin said. "The rest of the place is clear." He started back down the hallway, and Bombur followed him.

Thorin lingered by the door as Bilbo walked out. "I think the waistcoat looks good on you."

"Oh." Bilbo looked down—he'd forgotten for a moment that he had it on. "Well, I would keep it, but it kind of smells." He reached down to undo the buttons, acutely aware of Thorin watching him, and tossed the waistcoat back in the room. A blush was beginning to creep over his cheeks. "Shall we?"

"Yeah," Thorin said, a low rasp to his voice.

Bilbo couldn't resist leaning up to give him a quick kiss. It was a shame they didn't have time for more, but this was hardly the time or place to get distracted. "Let's go."

The others were waiting for them on the stage. Dwalin was busy lifting the cover of the piano, an empty duffel bag at his feet. Bombur discreetly made a crude gesture in Bilbo's direction, waggling his eyebrows, and Bilbo rolled his eyes.

Dwalin propped open the cover and began taking guns out of the interior of the piano. Bilbo peered inside, where space had been made for several rifles. "Well, that's clever."

"Only the larger ones are in there," Thorin said. "I didn't want to hide them all in one place." He walked over to the curtains and extracted a rope from the thick fabric. He untied a knot in the rope, causing another bag to descend from higher up. He caught it with a grunt and handed it to Bombur. "That should be everything."

Bilbo walked over and squeezed Thorin's bicep with a smile. "So there's some brains along with all that muscle."

"Will you two please get a room," Dwalin muttered as he walked past.

"Yeah, I'm sure we can give you guys thirty minutes or so," Bombur said, heading for the door. "As long as you don't mind the stage acoustics."

Bilbo was pleased to see Thorin was blushing, and laughed softly. "I think we'd better go."

Thorin cleared his throat. "Right."

They were nearly outside when the _pop_ of a gunshot made them all tense up. Thorin went rigid, and the four of them rushed for the door.

The others were still waiting by the cars, and fortunately no one looked hurt. Ori had his gun in his hand, a dead walker at his feet.

"Sorry," he said, seeing Thorin's darkening expression. "It snuck up on me, and I panicked."

Another half dozen walkers were lumbering towards them from across the street. Striding forward, Thorin drew his knife and jammed it into the skull of the nearest one. Bifur and Nori stepped forward with their own knives and helped him take out the rest.

"We have what we came for," Thorin said as Bombur and Dwalin loaded the guns into the trunk. "Let's get out of here before any more walkers show up."

Ori, pale-faced, climbed into the van. Bilbo frowned for a moment, then took a seat next to Thorin in the front of the car.

He was still fuming a half hour later, his temper crackling across the vehicle like the air before a thunderstorm. Bilbo glanced at the backseat. Bifur was absorbed in a book, Fíli had his headphones on, and Óin was snoring in between them. He turned back to Thorin and gently tapped his arm.

"You want to talk about what happened back there?"

It took a moment for Thorin to speak. "I made an assumption when I decided to take everyone out here," he said lowly. "I thought that you would all remember what to do, how to survive. But it's been years since you've all had to do that."

"Well, for the record, you aren't _taking_ us anywhere," Bilbo said. "We all decided to follow you. You're not responsible for us. We all look out for each other. And we might be…rusty for the first few days, but none of us have really forgotten what it was like to be on the road." He smiled wryly. "Maybe living in an apocalypse is like learning how to ride a bike. You learn it once, and you never really forget how."

"I'm still going over some ground rules once we stop," Thorin said. "And this _is_ my responsibility. I'm the one who asked you all to come out here. This is about finding someplace safe. I can't…I can't let anyone get hurt while we're out here."

Bilbo reached over and squeezed his hand. "Like I said, we all look out for each other. We'll keep each other safe."

Thorin said nothing to that, but he held onto Bilbo for the rest of the ride.

* * *

It was raining so hard Thorin could barely see out the windshield. The streets were beginning to flood, the silvery layer of water vibrating with the force of the raindrops. The sun was setting—or, at least, that was what he assumed was happening behind the thick layer of dark clouds. It was hard to see much, with the looming trees on either side. The roads in this area were clogged with dead and abandoned cars, which had forced them down a winding side road. They would need to find shelter soon before the visibility dropped any further.

Dwalin leaned forward from the backseat. "I say we find the nearest building and stop for the night. We're not going to cover much ground in this weather."

Thorin grunted in agreement. "Let's hope the rain lets up by tomorrow."

"Yeah, or else we might have to canoe the rest of the way to Erebor."

He smiled briefly at that. A few minutes later, a house appeared on the side of the road, and he pulled into the driveway. Through the rain, he could see the headlights of the van swiveling to follow him.

The house was relatively large, and situated on a hill, so they wouldn't have to worry about flooding. Thorin opened the door, and immediately grimaced as raindrops pelted his skin. He closed the door quickly and went to grab one of the bags from the trunk.

The knob of the front door was slick beneath his wet hand, but it only took one turn to realize it was locked. Thorin cursed under his breath and glanced back. The rest of the group was standing in the rain, holding their packs above their heads in a futile attempt to shield themselves from the rain.

"Move." Dwalin shouldered him out of the way. He raised his axe and brought it down on the door, splintering the wood right next to the knob. The door swung open.

"The door doesn't lock now," Thorin grumbled as they stepped inside.

"We'll shove something against it." Dwalin shouldered his axe. "I'm not getting my only change of clothes wet because no one knows how to pick a lock."

Thorin moved aside to let the others through. "Let's check the house before we dry off."

"Dining room's clear." Nori stuck his head through one of the doorways, making them all jump.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Bifur demanded.

He shrugged. "One of the windows was open. I was gonna unlock the door and let you all in, but Dwalin kinda stole my thunder."

Thorin shot a look at Dwalin, who only grumbled under his breath and started up the stairs.

The house was clear, save a couple walkers in the basement. They left the bodies in the boiler room and resolved to keep to the upper floors. Bofur found some firewood in the living room and started a fire, while Víli set about dividing up their provisions for dinner.

"Place your orders now." He began unpacking the canned food. "We have beans, beans, or beans. And if you're in the mood for something different, tonight's special is…beans."

Bofur stretched out in front of the fire with a sigh. "I'll have the roasted duck, no onions, please."

Bilbo leaned into the room, holding up a saucepan he'd taken from the kitchen. "At least we can heat them up. Hot beans are better than cold."

Bofur leaned back with a groan. "I didn't realize how much I'd miss homecooked meals until right now."

Thorin crossed his arms and leaned against the sofa. "We'll have plenty of options once we get to Erebor."

"So, what's the plan for getting in there, anyway?" Nori asked. "It might be secure enough to keep anything out, but that includes us, for the moment."

Thorin glanced at the pack, where the notes were. In this weather, he was doubly glad of the sealed plastic bag. "From what I've gathered, most of the doors are locked. But there should be a ventilation shaft on one side of the mountain that will allow us to get in."

Víli finished prying the lid off of one can and dumped the contents into the pot. "So, one of us crawls through a vent, unlocks the door from the inside to let everyone else in, and…"

"We kill the psycho with the flamethrower," Dwalin said. "Sounds simple enough."

"I'll sneak in," Nori said. "Not my first time crawling around in an air vent."

No one decided to question that.

A few minutes later, everyone had a small bowl of hot food, and low conversation filled the air. It was a step down from life in the farmhouse, but not quite the rough camping they'd been doing before. Perhaps this was what the rest of the group needed—a sort of transition from the life of peace they'd known for so long.

Thorin glanced to the side, and found Bilbo looking up at the mantel, at the photographs on it. Each depicted a smiling family of four—a couple and a pair of kids about Kíli's age.

He reached over and touched his shoulder. "You alright?"

Bilbo shook himself and nodded. "You know, I was almost hoping we'd find people in here. Good people," he added. "It would be nice to know that we're not the only ones out here. That there's a chance to rebuild society eventually."

Thorin glanced down at his pack."We have a chance to start that. In Erebor."

Bilbo smiled at him, the light of the fire glinting warmly in his eyes, and Thorin found that he couldn't look away.

"That'd be nice," said Bofur, who had apparently been listening to their conversation. "I'd love to see some fresh faces, new families."

"Maybe some people my age," Fíli added.

Víli poked him in the side. "Maybe your future girlfriend or boyfriend."

Bombur sighed wistfully as Fíli rolled his eyes. "You know, there is something kind of romantic about post-apocalyptic romance. Even in all this death and destruction, two people can find each other and create something beautiful…"

Thorin glanced at Bilbo again and smiled. It was strange to think they might have never met if the world hadn't ended. Now, he couldn't imagine not having him in his life.

Cheeks pink, Bilbo turned to Víli. "I'm kind of curious now. How did you and Dís meet?"

"Oh, she hit me with her car."

"_What_?"

"Yeah, we went to the same university, so she was driving down one of the side roads and not paying attention, and hit me while I was crossing the street. I was on my skateboard, so I went flying. Luckily I didn't break any bones, but the pavement pretty much took my left elbow off." He lifted his arm to show the faded, circular scar.

"Why weren't you wearing elbow guards?" Fíli asked.

"Because I'm not a nerd. Anyway, she was super apologetic, offered to take me to the hospital. Obviously I just waited for the ambulance, but she came to visit me the next day. That was when she realized we were in the same chemistry class. I already knew because I was always staring at her...uh, hair. And I was also failing. So she offered to help me out in chemistry, I offered to give her driving lessons, and pretty soon we were dating."

Bilbo's lips twitched. "That's an…interesting story."

Thorin nudged him. "A little more romantic than almost shooting each other in a parking lot."

Víli raised his eyebrows. "What's this about almost shooting each other?"

"Oh, god." Bilbo put his face in his hands. "I'd forgotten about that."

Thorin related the story to the rest of the group, with a few added details from Fíli. Dwalin whistled lowly once they were done.

"So the only reason you didn't kill Thorin right there is because you forgot to take the safety off." He glanced at Bombur. "You're right—that is the peak of romance."

"I don't think you would have hit anything vital," Thorin said to Bilbo, whose cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. "Your aim wasn't great back then."

"That's very reassuring, thank you."

Things quieted down after that. Óin dozed off in front of the fireplace, his chin resting on his chest. Nori offered to take first watch, and the rest of them went to find somewhere to sleep.

Wordlessly, Bilbo took Thorin by the hand and led him into one of the upstairs bedrooms. It was probably the master bedroom—the room was spacious, and dominated by a large four-poster bed.

Bilbo looked at it consideringly. "Whoever lived here had a lot of money."

Thorin thought back to the walkers in the basement. "Didn't do much for them in the end." As Bilbo continued to ponder the bed, he asked, "What are you thinking?"

"Well, my clothes are still a bit damp, and I want them to be dried off by tomorrow morning…"

"What does that have to do with the bed?"

Bilbo turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Are you messing with me right now?"

His stoic expression finally cracked into a smile. "Maybe a little."

"Well, you're absolutely hilarious. You should do stand up."

"Right now?"

A grin finally spread on Bilbo's face, and he closed the distance between them. "Come here."

Their kiss smoldered in the darkness of the room, and Thorin drank it all in as his hands lowered, slipping under Bilbo's arms and pulling him closer. The lengths of their bodies pressed together, and Thorin became aware of all of it—every brush of skin, the radiating heat, the suddenly inconvenient amount of damp clothes in between them.

Bilbo seemed to be thinking the same thing, and he lifted Thorin's shirt up, prompting him to pull it off. Thorin leaned in to kiss him again, chasing his lips like a drowning man taking in a breath of air, and Bilbo took advantage of this in order to unbuckle his pants and slide them off.

It was only when he felt Bilbo's hands sliding down his chest, over his abdomen and down to the waistband of his boxers, that he realized how naked he was, compared to Bilbo's still relatively clothed state. He nudged his hands away and helped him pull his own shirt off, then tossed it to the floor. He leaned in to kiss him again, only to pause as he caught a faceful of Bilbo's hair.

"You can't just leave it on the floor." Bilbo leaned down to pick up his discarded shirt and shook it out. "It'll never dry just lying on the carpet."

Thorin sighed and watched him carefully drape his shirt over a nearby chair. "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes, it is. I'm not wearing damp clothes tomorrow." Bilbo bent down to collect Thorin's clothes, and he couldn't help but stare at the way his pants rode down slightly with the movement.

"Alright." He laid back on the bed and closed his eyes. "Don't take too long, or I might have to take matters into my own hands."

"I know you have more patience in that." Bilbo was moving to the other side of the room, evident by the soft padding of his feet against the carpet. "I wonder if they have hangers."

Thorin sighed again. "Or I might get bored and fall asleep."

A moment later, a warm weight settled across his hips, and Thorin opened his eyes. Bilbo was straddling him, completely naked. "You don't feel very asleep right now."

He smiled, heat flushing across his body as Bilbo's fingers dipped beneath his waistband. And then his lips rounded into a gasp as Bilbo took hold of him. "Alright, come here."

Bilbo took a moment to finish undressing him, then leaned down to kiss him, and then they were pressed together, the sensation sending a shivering wave of pleasure through him.

They took it slow at first, savoring the simple slide of lips, the sweet friction caused by the barest of movements. Thorin held him, both hands grasping at his back, his breaths growing heavier as they picked up the pace. For how long they continued like that, panting and thrusting against one another, he wasn't sure, but it seemed like a blissful eternity before Bilbo pressed his face into the crook of Thorin's neck, crying out as he found his release. Thorin followed him a moment after, leaning his head back and shuddered with the waves of pleasure rolling through his body.

Afterwards, they lay side by side, their breaths gradually slowing as the sweat cooled on their bodies. Thorin could feel his eyes drifting closed, the long day taking its toll, but he forced himself to stand up and find something to clean both of them off.

The door on one side of the room led to an adjoining bathroom. He found a clean towel to wipe himself off with, then grabbed a fresh one and headed back into the bedroom.

Bilbo was propped up on one elbow, watching him as he approached. His eyes trailed down appreciatively—and then he started to laugh.

"What?" Thorin glanced down at himself, wondering if he'd missed a spot.

"Why…" Bilbo laid back down, his chest shaking with mirth. "Why do you still have your socks on?"

"I don't know." Thorin tossed the towel in his direction and grumbled, "I guess you forgot to take them off."

"Well, I think it's absolutely sexy. You should keep them on."

Thorin couldn't help but grin at that. He laid next to Bilbo and kissed him again. They rearranged their limbs into a more comfortable position, and Bilbo shifted so he could rest his head on Thorin's chest.

He hummed at the slight pressure on his shoulder. "You're going to make my arm fall asleep."

"You can always kick me out of bed if you get uncomfortable," Bilbo said, his voice already growing hazy with sleep.

Thorin laughed softly and pulled him closer with one arm around his shoulders. Already, he could feel his eyelids growing heavier, and with a warm body pressed against his own, he was asleep in minutes.

**This is a pretty fluffy chapter, I know. I basically wanted to give the group (and y'all) one last little happy moment before…y'know, the rest of the story. Take that how you will.**

**la Dictateuse asked for some background on how Víli and Dís met, so I cooked up this little story. We love a meet-cute haha.**

**Also, I forget if I've mentioned this before, but thank you so much for 100 reviews on this fic! I really appreciate all the feedback!**


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

The light streaming from the window woke him, and Thorin's eyes were open in an instant. He rolled over, the sheet still half-covering his body, but the space next to him was empty. He glanced up to find Bilbo sitting against the headboard, and noticed with some disappointment that he was fully clothed.

"Morning."

Bilbo glanced at him with a slight smile. "Good morning." He had a number of papers spread out on his lap—the collection of notes about Erebor.

Thorin glanced back at the window, hoping he hadn't slept too late. They needed an early start to make it to the mountain, and he didn't want to set a poor example for the rest of the group. He untangled himself from the sheet and stood up, then went to retrieve his clothes. Now that he was fully awake, he could hear the others moving around downstairs.

"Thorin," Bilbo said as he finished pulling on his shirt. "Can I ask you something?"

There was a strange hesitance in his voice that made something freeze in his chest. Thorin turned to face him. "What is it?"

Bilbo had his eyes trained on the papers in his lap, though Thorin could tell he wasn't really seeing them. "I was looking through these this morning. I glanced over the whole stack. And I didn't see any pictures of burn victims."

The cold sensation in his chest intensified. Thorin said nothing, standing perfectly still.

Bilbo still wouldn't meet his eyes. "Not…Not that that's the first thing I'd want to see in the morning. But you mentioned them, and I don't see them here." He finally looked up, as though hoping for some sort of reassurance, and the look in his eyes made ice trickle into his gut.

Thorin forced himself to speak. "I'm sorry. I…I shouldn't have lied to you."

The sliver of hope in Bilbo's expression crumpled. "You lied to me?"

The trembling hurt in his voice made his throat tighten. Thorin fought to keep his expression steady as he said, "I-I wanted you on my side. But you've never been able to come to terms with killing, and I thought—"

"W-Wait, is this about the fact that I stopped you from shooting Beorn?" Bilbo's eyes narrowed as he stood up. "Because in case you've forgotten, I was right about that."

"This is different. That man in Erebor is a psychopath. He is hoarding supplies and weapons that could save our group and the lives of ten times as many people."

"So you could have said just that," Bilbo said, crossing his arms. "I still don't understand why you lied."

"Because I didn't think you would come otherwise!" Thorin spread his hands. "I saw the look in your eyes. You don't have what it takes to kill someone, and I-I've tried to shield you from that. But maybe you shouldn't have come at all."

Bilbo's mouth fell open, and Thorin inwardly kicked himself. He'd worded that terribly.

"You—You are—" Bilbo spluttered for a moment, then turned away and made for the door.

"Bilbo, wait." He reached out, but Bilbo was already gone, slamming the door behind him.

Feeling hollow, Thorin sat on the bed next to the discarded notes and put his face in his hands.

Nothing would have stopped him from trying to take Erebor, but a part of him had desperately wanted that approval from his family, from Bilbo especially. After so many years of feeling that strange detachment, he'd wanted something more, a common goal that would bring them together.

But maybe that was something they would never find. When the rest of them found out about his deception, perhaps it would become clear that he was nothing like the others, and nothing would change that.

When the door creaked open again, he looked up, and found Balin standing in the entrance, his face drawn with concern. "Trouble in paradise?"

Thorin relaxed slightly, but his relief was short-lived. Bilbo hadn't told them the truth, which meant the burden was still on him. "Balin," he said lowly. "I made a mistake."

Balin shut the door and went to sit on the bed beside him with a sigh. He was getting old, had been showing signs of it for years, and the thought sent another spasm of guilt through him. He was risking a lot, making this trip, as was Óin. And Fíli was so young…

"I lied," Thorin said, and the words felt numb on his tongue. He forced himself to explain everything, separating the truth from the lie, and explained haltingly why he had done it.

Balin let out a long sigh after he was finished, and clasped his hands on his knees. "I see."

"I don't know what to do," Thorin said, and he was suddenly reminded of a similar moment so many years ago. It had been a week after Frerin had died, and Thorin had felt as though his life was caving in around him. He'd stumbled into Balin's office where he worked for the local university, feeling himself begin to unravel entirely, and had broken down right there.

_There's no shame in asking for help_, Balin had said, and for a while, he'd listened. But now, Thorin was beginning to wonder if he should have tried to make it to Erebor by himself instead. He wasn't sure this chance was worth gambling the lives of his family.

"I think you do know," Balin said. "You want to take that mountain, because you think it'll make us safer. I saw the look in your eyes when you told us about Erebor. You've been waiting for something like this for a long time."

"But everyone else," Thorin began hoarsely.

"Well, that's up to them, isn't it?" Balin raised an eyebrow. "You've always been good to us, Thorin. You've kept us on the right path, but we've been free to make our own choices…and mistakes. I say you give them the full picture, and let _them_ decide what to do next."

Bilbo had said something similar the previous day. Thorin nodded stiffly. If nothing else, he owed them the truth. "Alright." He straightened and tried to compose himself. "I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes."

"Good." Balin squeezed his shoulder and gave him a small, reassuring smile. "You're going to be alright." He stood and left the room, closing the door gently behind him.

* * *

"Punch me."

Fíli took a deep breath and swung his fist forward, and Dwalin deflected the blow with his forearm.

"Good. Don't put so much force behind it, though."

With a sigh, Fíli shook out his hand. He was already a little sore in places, and he had a feeling some of them were going to bruise. "Isn't the point to hit you hard?"

"Yeah, but you're putting yourself off balance. Move your energy forward, but keep yourself grounded. Try again."

Late morning light was streaming through the living room, which had been cleared to provide a space for them to practice. Dwalin had offered to teach Fíli some self-defense moves while they were waiting to leave, which was apparently taking a while longer than it should have. Bilbo had stormed down the stairs and out the front door a while ago, and Bofur had gone to talk to him, while Balin headed up to check on Thorin.

Fíli hoped they would work out whatever they'd been fighting about soon. Seeing them upset with each other gave him the same uneasy feeling he had on the rare occasion that his parents would fight. He tried to push those thoughts to the back of his mind as he swung another punch at Dwalin.

Instead of blocking this one, he stepped to the side, and Fíli stumbled forward, nearly crashing into the coffee table pushed to one side of the room.

"Careful!" Óin snapped from where he was watching on the couch. "I don't want this one getting a concussion because you were being too rough with him."

"Oh, lighten up. I'm teaching him how to defend himself. He's gotta learn that there's consequences if he messes up."

"I'm fine," Fíli said, straightening up. He was starting to sweat, but Dwalin didn't even look winded. "Let me try again."

After a few more minutes of practice, Balin came back down the stairs, and they all looked at him, eager to hear about Thorin. But he only nodded a bit stiffly and said, "We should start packing up. We'll be leaving soon."

Dwalin clapped him on the shoulder and went to start gathering their supplies. Fíli flexed his arm with a slight wince and headed to the kitchen.

Ori was already in there, packing up the small amount of rations they'd found. He turned and handed Fíli a water bottle as he walked in. "You're getting pretty good. I was watching for a little bit."

Fíli shrugged and took a swig. "Dwalin could still kick my ass, though."

"Yeah, well, Dwalin could kick anyone's ass." They both chuckled at that. "I still think you're a natural, though."

"Thanks." Fíli lowered his gaze, absently crumpling the plastic beneath his thumb. There were times when he still felt like a little kid among adults, with everyone being so much more experienced than he was. Even Ori, who had been pretty young when the outbreak started, still had a good ten years on him. "I just don't want to be a liability, you know? I don't want anyone to feel like they have to protect me."

"I get it," Ori said, looking down at his arm. "You just gotta prove them wrong, yeah?"

"Yeah."

They both turned at the sound of Thorin's voice by the entrance, and finished gathering up their things.

Thorin was standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, while everyone gathered around. Bilbo and Bofur had returned from outside, and the former was standing with a furrow in his brow, looking anywhere but Thorin.

Once they had all quieted down, Thorin addressed them. "I want to…clear some things up," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "Back when I first told you all about Erebor, I said something that wasn't true. As far as I know, the man living in that mountain is some kind of arsonist, but I…" He touched the straps of his pack, where the notes were no doubt being kept. "I have no evidence that he's ever killed or tortured anyone." He lifted his gaze, scanning each of their faces in turn. "I shouldn't have misled any of you like that. If you're all going to follow me, I don't want there to be any lies. And if any of you want to turn back now, I won't begrudge you that." He glanced at Bilbo, who met his gaze with a frown.

After a few moments of silence, Nori said, "Well, if this guy has been holed up by himself, he's probably some kind of crazy. I say we take him out, Robin Hood style." A few of the others muttered what might have been agreements or just amusement.

Unease prickled under Fíli's skin. He muttered a quick excuse to Víli, who was standing nearby, then made his way through the house and out through the backdoor. Just outside was a small patio of gray stone. He sat on one of the wicker chairs and rested his elbows on his knees.

Before, whenever he'd imagined them coming up against Smaug, he'd been picturing a different face. He'd pictured Azog, the man who had done so much to hurt him and his family, who had driven them out of their home.

But that wasn't it. It was them, it was _his_ group, he realized, who were the ones waiting outside the door with guns, ready to gut whatever was inside.

Maybe it was one man. Maybe he was a bad person. But did that make it right?

The door opened again, and Thorin walked out. He crossed the patio, almost hesitantly, and sat down in the chair across from Fíli.

"You don't have to do this," he said. "If you want to go home, none of us would blame you."

Fíli frowned and sat back. Hearing it like that made something bristle within him, like it was just confirming that everyone still saw him as a kid. He remembered with a twisting sensation how useless he'd been when Azog's group had taken the warehouse, how he hadn't been able to do anything except cling to his mom and cry.

He wanted to be brave—he just didn't know what that meant, anymore.

"What are you gonna do with Smaug? When we get there?"

Thorin's expression darkened slightly. "He's probably not going to see reason. I doubt he's going to invite us in like Beorn did."

"But what if he does?"

"Then we'll go from there." Thorin's gaze flickered back to the house. "I don't want to kill anyone if we don't have to. But I'm not taking any chances that could put you all in danger." He locked eyes with Fíli. "There's a chance we're going to have to fight. And no one is expecting you to take part in that."

His elbow brushed against the gun at his hip, and his hands balled into fists. The weapon had become something of a comforting weight, but it scared him sometimes, too. Dís had drilled it into his head that it only took one wrong move, one tiny mistake, to do something irreversible.

She was probably worrying about him right now. If he decided to go back, Víli would take him. He would get to see his brother again, his cousin, and not have to worry about killing anything.

Until he did. As much as the farm seemed like a safe place, things could fall apart anywhere. As long as he was with the group heading to Erebor, he had a chance to make things better—to make sure they did it _right_.

"I'm staying with you all." Fíli stood up and shouldered his pack. Thorin nodded, but there was less of the pride that had been there the first time he had volunteered, and more something akin to resignation. He turned towards the back door, then paused. "And you should talk to Bilbo. You guys are both happier when you get along."

**Kind of a shorter, filler-type chapter, but I wanted to keep this separate from the sequence that takes place next chapter, which I'm really excited about. And I hope this doesn't come across that I'm stirring up drama for drama's sake, I want this conflict to contribute to what I'm building up here. But I don't really like to have my boys fight. Let me know what your thoughts are!**

**And with that, last chapter of 2019! This bitch really thought this fic would be finished by November haha. Anyway, thank you all for sticking with me so far, and I'll see you in the new year!**

**(Also! There is now a playlist for this fic. You can find the Youtube link in my profile, and I'll also be reblogging it on lindirs-gaze on tumblr, so you can check it out there, too.)**


	31. Chapter 31

**Warning for at least one kind of gruesome death in this chapter. I kinda went over the top…**

**Chapter 31**

"Well, shit." Dwalin sighed, looking as if he wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel.

Fíli slumped in his seat, toying with the headphones in his lap. They'd been driving for hours, trying to find a road east that wasn't blocked off by dead cars or broken bridges. They'd finally found a stretch of highway that was mostly empty, and it had carried them for about half an hour until they ran into a new problem.

There was a train in the middle of the road.

It stretched across the railroad crossing like a sleeping serpent, extending a short distance into the train station nearby.

Sullenly, they all trickled out of the vehicles to discuss what to do next.

"So, are we heading south again?" Óin asked.

"At this rate, we're going to end up in Gondor," Bombur grumbled.

Thorin spread the map of the area across the hood of the van. He looked exhausted, the dark circles hanging heavy under his eyes and his beard gaining a wild, unkempt look. "Either we try the road down here," he pointed to a spot on the map. "Or we go on foot."

"Or we could try and move the train," Nori suggested.

Everyone turned to look at him.

He shrugged. "How hard can it be? Not like there's a lot it can do except stop and go."

Thorin sighed. "Let's look around the train station, then. If we can't clear the road, we'll just have to move on."

They left the cars and started the trek towards the train station. The large building had once been painted green, with a glass-paneled dome in the center. Several of the windows were broken, though, and the paint had peeled off in places to reveal patches of rust.

The inside wasn't in much better condition. The tile floor was cracked beneath their feet, and plant life had sprung up where patches of sunlight hit the dirty floor. The central room was a long, two-story area with the tracks running through the center. The train blocking their path was peering out of the entry to the left, just below a bridge that connected both sides of the track, and directly in front of them was the ticket office.

Nori pointed to the front end of the train. "Lemme see if I can get this thing started."

Thorin nodded. "I'll taking a group to sweep the place. I don't want anything sneaking up on us."

"While you all do that, we're gonna look for supplies," Víli said, pointing to a sign that advertised a cafe on the second floor. "Might be able to find some food."

Thorin took Dwalin, Ori, and Bombur to scout out the station. Nori, Óin, Bifur, and Bilbo made for the train (and Fíli guessed, unhappily, that the latter had chosen to do so since he still hadn't made up with Thorin).

That left him, Víli, Balin, and Bofur to head up the stairs to their right. The metal was flaked with rust, and groaned under their footsteps as they ascended.

"Jesus," Víli said, looking down. "Didn't think the world would start falling apart on us so soon."

"Looks like there was some water damage here," Bofur said, glancing up at the shattered windows above. "Let's be careful."

It was a short walk to the cafe, which seemed to double as a convenience store of sorts. There were shelves scattered with empty wrappers, faded magazines, and crumpled newspapers. The row of fridges along the back wall were clouded with grime.

Fíli found an empty pack of gum buried beneath a pile of torn cardboard and slipped it into his pack. Bofur hopped the counter and began rummaging behind it, humming softly to himself.

Víli picked up one of the newspapers and rustled it, trying to decipher the running ink. "Hey, the Ravens won that game? Huh."

Fíli looked up. "What?"

"Five years ago." He set down the newspaper. "The Ravens won, but I never found out about it. Stopped watching the news after it got all depressing."

They had all gone to a game once, as a family. Kíli had gorged himself on cotton candy and had sticky blue strands of sugar stuck to his face. During a particularly tense moment, Dís had stood up and started cheering for their team, only for another spectator to shout something rude at her. Víli had stood up to confront the man and had earned a black eye for his efforts, but he'd worn it like a trophy for the rest of the day.

When Fíli tried to picture that stadium now, all he could see was the stands slumping and broken, weeds and rough brush populating the field, maybe a few walkers roaming through the twisted metal remains.

Balin was standing by the window, looking out at the trees outside. "You know, there's something almost poetic about it. Mother Nature taking back the land, creeping back over what we took." He looked up as a small, brown bird flitted through the gap in the windows and soared up towards the metal rafters. "Perhaps that's the only thing that's really permanent."

"Well, as long as she doesn't mind us making a place for ourselves." Bofur opened a bag of coffee grounds, sniffed it, and grimaced.

Fíli walked over to an abandoned suitcase sitting a little ways away. It was stuffed with rumpled clothing, and a stream of ants were crawling up and down one corner. He looked up at the metal column nearby and found that someone had carved L+B into the paint.

A low rumble made them all look up.

"Hey, I guess they got the train working," Víli said.

Bofur was frowning. "That…That sounds more like a car engine."

Fíli stood up. "Maybe they—"

The window cracked, sending shards of glass clattering to the floor. A second later, Balin fell too, hitting the tile with a heavy _thud_.

They stood in horror, watching the halo of red growing around his head, the ring of cracked glass around the bullet hole in the window, and then Víli shouted, "_Get down!_"

More bullets peppered the glass, and in the next instant, it shattered entirely, raining gleaming shards onto the floor. Fíli hit the ground so fast his knees jarred with the impact. He was breathing hard, but it didn't feel like any air was reaching his lungs. All he could see was Balin's still form, his eyes closed even as blood crept over the crystals of glass on the floor.

Fíli was kneeling next to the metal column, while Víli and Bofur had taken cover behind the counter at the cafe. He exchanged a wide-eyed glance with his father and felt something inside him shrink.

"Fíli, stay where you are," Víli said. He began inching closer to the edge of the counter.

The gunfire stopped suddenly, and Bofur risked a glance over the counter. "Shit. They're heading inside. We gotta get back to the others."

Víli had his gun in his hand. "Fíli, I'm gonna cover you, okay? When I say go, I want you to run over here."

His gaze fell on Balin again, and tears pricked his eyes. For a moment, he could almost feel Dís's grip on his hand.

_I need you to be brave, just a little longer._

They weren't going to leave him behind. They couldn't.

Fíli lunged forward and began crawling towards Balin, ignoring the prickle of glass against his palms.

"Fíli! God dammit!"

Even when he felt sticky blood beneath his palms, he didn't stop until he was crouching next to Balin. He looked down, taking in the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest, and gasped.

"He's breathing. He's alive!"

Víli exchanged a glance with Bofur, and the two of them nodded.

"You get ready to cover us, okay? We're gonna get him out of here."

In unison, Víli and Bofur darted out from their cover and knelt on either side of Balin. Fíli rose to his feet, both hands clasping his gun. He could see four trucks parked outside the train station, and a few men running towards the door. A series of gunshots had started at the other end of the train station, and the noise sent a spike of fear through his heart.

He started to turn away, but one more figure stepped out of the truck, a tower of pale muscle. Recognition locked his limbs. He sucked in a breath, feeling as though the insides of his lungs had been coated in ice.

Azog shouldered his rifle, looked right up at him, and grinned.

"Come on." Víli hadn't noticed anything, too busy slinging Balin's arm around his shoulders, while Bofur took the other. "We gotta go."

And rage began to melt his fear. Fíli watched as Azog walked at an almost leisurely pace to the front door and tightened his grip on his gun.

This would not be like the warehouse. He wasn't going to let this bastard take their home, or hurt anyone else.

_Not again_.

They made their way back to the stairs as fast as they could. Balin was completely still as they half-carried, half-dragged him, blood turning his white hair a sickening scarlet. Fíli looked away as his stomach turned. Maybe the bullet had only grazed him, knocked him out. They only had to get him to Óin, and he would be okay.

The sound of gunfire grew louder as they headed for the other end of the train station. The ticket booth near the tracks obscured their view of the train, and he saw no sign of the rest of their group.

The stairs creaked as they hurried down, and halfway through, gave a sickening lurch. The metal screeched—Víli, and Bofur stumbled forward, Fíli fell backwards. The steps beneath him jolted downwards. Moving with an agility he didn't know he possessed, he switched his gun to his other hand and grabbed the metal railing to his right.

"Fíli!"

The stairs broke in half, and Fíli scrambled backwards as his half began to lurch downwards. The other three had ended up on the lower half, thankfully upright and unharmed. Víli was staring up at him with wide eyes.

Fumbling with sweating palms, Fíli used his grip on the railing to hoist himself upwards until he was back on the upper level. He looked down, breathing hard.

"Stay there!" Víli shouted. "I'm gonna find a way up to you."

Bofur raised his gun to shoot at something Fíli couldn't see. "Take cover!"

Fíli swallowed and pushed himself to his feet. He flexed his fingers, which were stiff from clinging to the railing, and switched his gun back to his right hand. He couldn't just sit and do nothing, not when his family was in danger.

With his pulse pounding in his ears, Fíli sprinted in the other direction, past the cafe and the pool of blood dotted with broken glass. At the other end of the building, he could see another stairway that would lead him down to the main floor.

This set of stairs thankfully held his weight, and he only stumbled a couple times before he reached the bottom. He decided to cut through the closed-off waiting area that lay between him and the others.

The room was filled with rows of plastic seats, and eerily dim despite the grime-fogged glass panels. The gunshots were slightly muffled, too. Fíli rushed across the room, his footsteps and jagged breaths sounding too loud in the empty space.

He was nearly at the door when something moved on the other side of the glass. Fíli barely had time to raise his weapon before the door swung open and the butt of a rifle cracked across his face.

* * *

When Thorin heard the gunshots, something in his blood ignited. He slipped his rifle from his shoulder and glanced at the other three in his group. Ori and Bombur were looking towards the sound with wide eyes, but Dwalin had slipped into a focused calm, his own rifle already at the ready.

The four of them ran towards the noise. They'd ended up on the other side of the tracks from where they'd entered, and had been checking out the security office when the first shot had sounded.

When they made it back into the main area, chaos greeted them. At least a dozen men had poured into the building, and were firing at the train, which was still stuck on the tracks.

Thorin cursed, even as fury jolted through his limbs. He turned to Dwalin. "Take these two out the emergency exit, around the building. Kill anyone that tries to escape."

Dwalin narrowed his eyes. "Why the hell would they try to escape?"

He checked the ammo in his handgun, made sure his knife was free of its sheath. "I'm going to drive them out."

"By yourself?"

Thorin looked up at him. "Yeah. By myself."

Whatever Dwalin saw in his eyes seemed to dispell any doubts he had. He nodded once, a silent promise, then turned to Bombur and Ori. "Let's go."

The three of them made for the door, and Thorin hurried to take cover behind one of the metal columns. He lifted his rifle and shot one of the men in the head. Once they realized their targets were firing back, the group scattered, some taking cover behind the ticket station, others behind the train. Worry bubbled up as he thought of Bilbo and Fíli and the others, but he forced it back. He had to focus if he was going to kill as many of these bastards as he could.

Another man appeared from behind his cover as he tried to shoot at the train, and Thorin's bullet tore through his neck.

Movement out of the corner of his eye made him turn. Four men were climbing up to the high bridge that connected both sides of the tracks. Thorin cursed and sprinted for the stairs. He couldn't let them flank him.

Bullets rattled against the metal stairs. Thorin couldn't tell if any of them struck him—adrenaline was flying through his veins, and even if he was injured, he wasn't sure he would have stopped.

The first man was nearly across the bridge by the time Thorin reached the top of the stairs. He shot him in the leg without breaking his stride. Blood spurted from his thigh, and the man fell to the concrete with a scream. Thorin brought his boot down on the man's neck, crushing his windpipe and a few bones.

The second man was coming for him. Thorin raised his rifle, but the other was faster. A jolting impact slammed into his shoulder and sent him stumbling to the ground. He groaned as pain jolted through his arm, but pushed himself up anyway. He tossed aside his rifle and raised his handgun in the same motion. The man choked and bent double as Thorin shot him in the gut, and red bloomed from the wound. He staggered forward and shot him again in the head. The other two he killed before they could set foot on the bridge.

Breathing hard, Thorin made his way towards the other set of stairs. Most of the men were still shooting at the train, but a few were focused on the stairs, where Víli and Bofur were crouched and firing back at them.

A figure appeared in the doorway, bright white against the sunlight spilling through the opening, and Thorin felt fiery anger sear away whatever pain was in his shoulder. He raised his gun at the same time Azog noticed him, and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet cracked against the wall as Azog stepped back. The pale man raised his own rifle, and Thorin was forced to duck against the stairs as a spray of bullets shattered the space where his head had just been.

_Son of a bitch_. Thorin ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and darted behind another column. When he found a lull in the gunshots, he leaned forward with his gun raised, looking for Azog, but the pale man was nowhere to be found.

With a growl, Thorin shot another man in the head. The remainders of the group were retreating now, scrambling back towards the entrance. Thorin gave chase, shooting another three before his gun clicked, empty.

Cursing, he shoved it back in his pocket and looked around. Sometime during the chaos, the train had rumbled to life, and was making its way across the tracks. Thorin scanned the front as it approached, searching for any signs of the group that had gone inside.

Heavy footsteps from the direction of the ticket station caught his attention, and Thorin dodged the blow easily as a man swung his knife at him. He grabbed the man by the shoulders, ramming his knee into his gut, then shoved him to the side and off the platform. The man landed on the tracks with a groan that quickly turned into a scream as he was crushed beneath the advancing train.

Nori appeared in the frame of the train car's shattered windows and gave him a thumbs up. Thorin nodded to him and turned to the front door, blood still boiling in his veins. He sprinted for the entrance, only dimly realizing that he only had a knife left to defend himself.

The parking lot was empty except for half a dozen red-stained bodies. Dwalin, Ori, and Bombur approached from the side. One of them was saying something, but Thorin's focus was on the horizon.

Azog had escaped, had left them bloody and beaten again. But this time there was no fear—only vengeance, smoldering in his lungs.

* * *

Bilbo flinched as another bullet ricocheted off the side of the train. The four of them were crouched inside the front car, praying the metal plating would be enough to keep them all alive.

"Nori, what the hell are you doing?" Bifur growled, his grip tight on his rifle. "We need to get out of here."

"Not before we get this thing going." Nori was the only one of them not seated on the floor, instead choosing to squat in front of the control panel and continue to prod at the different buttons. "We still have to move this train if we want to get out of here. And if these bastards blow it _up_—"

They all flinched as a bullet tore through the front window, sending small pieces of glass to the floor.

"Dori was right," Óin grumbled. "You watch too many movies."

"We gotta push back," Bifur said. "Can't let them pin us down here." He whacked Bilbo's arm with his free hand. "Let's go shoot at these bastards."

Bilbo gaped at him. "Y-You want me to…"

"We gotta cover each other. I can't do this by myself, and Óin's reflexes are terrible."

"Unless you know how to start a train," Nori said.

"You don't either," Bilbo grumbled, and gestured for Bifur to lead the way.

They crept towards the door out of the car, keeping low. Bilbo's fingers curled around his gun, and he swore he could feel his pulse against the dark plastic.

Bifur pushed open the door and risked a glance outside, then ducked back against the wall. "Angle's no good. If we make it to the ticket office, we'll have better cover."

Bilbo nodded jerkily. "Okay."

"You first. I'll cover you, then you do the same for me."

He swallowed hard and tried to control the trembling in his hands. The memory of the warehouse was pushing at the corners of his mind—scrambling for the safety of the doors, blood running down his shoulder, watching Dori—

They had to make sure everyone else was safe.

Bilbo took a calming breath and straightened. "Tell me when."

Bifur shuffled to the side to give him room, then raised his gun and began firing at the strangers, each gunshot rattling across the space and jarring his nerves. "Now!"

Steeling himself, Bilbo darted through the door, leapt the gap to the platform, and sprinted for the ticket office. A bullet whizzed past his head, so close he could feel it ruffle his hair, and he collapsed behind the wall of the office.

He felt as if he was going to be sick for a moment, but forced it back. Bifur was counting on him.

Pushing himself back up, he crept to the corner and lifted his gun. He wasn't sure how many there were, as most of them were hiding behind columns or benches, but he began firing in their general direction. Distantly, he wondered if these were the same people who had attacked them back at the warehouse, though they seemed to be in greater numbers now.

Soon, Bifur had joined him behind the ticket office, and Bilbo left the shooting up to him. He knew these men were trying to kill them, but he still couldn't bring himself to really aim any of his shots.

A cry at the other end of the room made them turn. Bilbo crept to the other corner and peered around it. Víli and Bofur were crouched by the stairs, which barely provided enough cover for the two of them.

When Víli caught his eye, he shouted something and pointed up at the stairs. It was hard to make out his words over the gunfire, but the broken stairs and the fear in his eyes told him enough.

Bilbo sidled back over to Bifur. "I think something happened to Fíli. He's still upstairs, but the stairway is broken."

Bifur ducked back as another spray of bullets shot past him. "I think I saw another one at the far end of the building. You go get him—I'll draw their fire."

"How the hell am I supposed to make it over there?"

"The tracks. They're low enough that they'll provide some cover."

Bilbo glanced nervously at the trench. He had some deep-rooted instinct to stay far away from the yellow-painted edge, probably since the first time his father had held his hand while they crossed the gap.

He tightened his grip on his gun. Fíli needed his help, and old rules didn't apply anymore.

He nodded at Bifur. "Good luck."

"You too."

Bilbo crawled to the edge of the platform and jumped down. He glanced back at the train, but it seemed Nori still hadn't figured out how to get it working. Keeping his head below the ledge, he ran in an awkward half-crouch towards the other end of the building. Briefly, bizarrely, he imagined himself to be a soldier from times past, crouching in trenches amid cannon fire.

Once he'd reached the far wall, he hoisted himself back onto the ledge and started for the stairs. But as he passed the walled-in waiting area, he paused as a low _thump_ sounded from inside.

Drawing his gun, Bilbo pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The interior showed signs of complete chaos. Several of the chairs had been pushed over and knocked aside as two figures wrestled at the far end of the room.

Fíli gasped as the other figure forced him to the ground. His skin was already patched with bruises and sweat. He was bleeding from a wound on his head, and more of it was streaming from his nose and into his mouth. At first, Bilbo though the other man was Azog, with his pale skin, but he realized this one was younger, probably only a couple years older than Fíli.

The pale figure had the same sadistic grin, though, as he drove a bruising punch into Fíli's ribs. His other hand wrapped around Fíli's throat, the muscles of his arm straining with his grip. Fíli grunted and coughed, trying to push him off, but his movements were weak and sluggish. The attacker cocked back his fist for another swing, but it never connected.

The bullet tore through his side, forcing him sideways and off of Fíli. He pushed himself up and began dragging himself backwards, but he fell back against the wall as another bullet struck the center of his chest. Dark patches of blood were rapidly growing in his shirt. He choked on some of it, eyes wide, as he tried to stand. He didn't look violent or frightening in that moment—he just looked scared.

Bilbo raised his gun and shot him in the head.

Silence rang through the room. It wasn't until Fíli rolled to the side, letting out a muted choking noise, that Bilbo stepped forward.

He didn't remember crossing the room, but the next thing he knew, he was kneeling next to Fíli and helping him sit up.

"Are you alright? Fíli, talk to me."

"'M okay," he said, wiping some blood from his upper lip. He was breathing shallowly. "I just…"

"Come on." Bilbo wrapped his arms around him and lifted him to his feet. "I've got you. Let's get out of here." He guided him towards the door, ignoring the body slumped against the wall.

The gunshots had died out by the time they reentered the main room. The train was also moving, gradually accelerating across the room. Nori and Óin were nearby, the former limping as the pair approached.

"Rolled my ankle jumping off the train," Nori said, and his eyes widened as he got a better look at them. "Holy hell. Fíli!"

"I'm fine," Fíli mumbled. "I—"

But the rest of his sentence was cut off as Víli came sprinting across the room. He said nothing, just wrapping his arms around Fíli, but the haunted look in his eyes was enough.

Bofur joined them a few seconds later, but he turned his attention to Óin. "We need you, quick. Balin…Balin was hit."

The six of them limped in a disjointed knot back towards the stairs. Balin was slumped on the floor, completely still with red painting the side of his head, and the sight made white sparks dance in Bilbo's vision. They gathered around as Óin knelt next to him.

A moment later, Thorin, Dwalin, Bifur, Ori, and Bombur approached. Thorin's clothes and hands were flecked with blood, and a dark patch of it was spreading on his shoulder, but he didn't seem to be gravely hurt.

Dwalin let out a strangled gasp as he saw Balin, and fell to his knees on his other side. "What the hell happened?"

"The first shot got him," Bofur said hollowly. "Surprised all of us."

Óin finished winding bandages around Balin's head and sat back on his heels. "I don't think it pierced the skull, which is good. We'll stop the bleeding and see if he wakes up. There's…There's not much else I can do for him without some real equipment."

Thorin stared at Balin's still form for a moment, his gaze hollow, then looked around at the rest of the group. "Is anyone else hurt?"

"Could use some ice for my ankle," Nori said. "But…" He glanced at Fíli, who was still clinging to his father.

Óin glanced at the pair. "Where are you hurt, lad?"

Fíli didn't answer, and Bilbo realized he was the only other one who knew at least part of what had happened. "One of the men attacked him," he said. "H-He was beating him when I walked in, and I…"

He looked down at the gun in his hand.

He'd killed someone.

The weapon clattered to the floor.

Distantly, he could hear Bofur speaking, reaching out for him as if afraid he was going to fall. Bilbo didn't resist as he was guided over to the mangled remains of the steps. He sat down and looked at his hands.

He'd killed someone.

He'd killed a kid—and yes, that kid had been on the verge of killing Fíli, but—

He'd shot him _three times_, and hadn't felt a thing.

"Bilbo."

Thorin's hand was on the back of his neck, his touch and his voice slowly drawing Bilbo out of his shock. He was kneeling before him, the steady blue of his gaze grounding him.

"You didn't do anything wrong. You saved Fíli's life. Alright?"

Bilbo took in a trembling breath. Despite everything that had happened, the fracture that had opened up between them, there was a part of him that still wanted to believe Thorin.

"I know," Thorin said softly, as if they were alone in the room. "I know what you're feeling, what you're carrying right now. And I promise it's not as heavy as it seems."

And despite everything—the blood, the guilt that was still fresh enough to feel like a new layer of snow—he leaned in, resting his head on Thorin's shoulder, and pretended for a moment that it was just the two of them.

**I hope this scene was ok to visualize? I actually had to draw out a map of the place just to visualize the blocking (now my third map for this story), and I hope things weren't too confusing. The POVs also kind of jump around a little so I hope that wasn't too confusing either. I am never writing another action scene in a goddamn train station.**

**And that last part with Bilbo and Fili is something I've been planning for a while, and I just…like, as much as I love him being a Good, I also like to sprinkle in a little bit of dark!Bilbo. Also, sometimes I wonder if I'm being too hard on Fili, but then I remember that Carl got shot up twice and bit, and I think I'm doing okay.**


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

They stopped at a motel a few miles past the train tracks. Thorin put Bifur and Bombur on watch while he and the others cleared the motel. The wound in his shoulder burned, but he'd refused to have it checked until he knew they were safe.

_Safe_. If that even meant anything anymore. Azog's grin leered at him from the corners of his memory, and Thorin had to restrain himself from smashing anything other than walker skulls.

He'd led his family right into a trap, one that could have killed Fíli. It might have already killed Balin. Thorin leaned against the doorway and squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn't been able to protect them. This mission had been about keeping them _safe_, not putting them in the line of fire.

Someone tugged on the back of his shirt and he turned with a growl, but it was only Óin. The doctor shot him an unimpressed glance.

"I'm checking your shoulder. No arguments."

"What about—"

"Balin is in one of the other rooms. Fíli's with his father, and Nori's putting his foot up." Óin jabbed a finger at the bed. "Sit."

With a sigh, Thorin sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his shirt with a wince. Óin set his bag down beside him and began examining his shoulder.

"Well, there's an exit wound. Saves me the trouble of removing the bullet. This is going to need stitches, though."

Bilbo appeared in the doorway. He was still pale, but looked slightly less shell-shocked than he had at the train station. "Need any help?" His words were slightly stilted, like he was reading from a script.

"Stop blocking my light, maybe," Óin grumbled.

Bilbo didn't react to the statement, but he moved to sit on the bed beside Thorin. He could feel the echoing hollowness inside him, but his presence was something of a comfort nonetheless.

He hissed at the sharp sting of alcohol as Óin applied it to his wound. Wordlessly, Bilbo slipped a hand into Thorin's and held it, not particularly tightly, but just so their skin met gently. They held onto each other in silence as Óin finished putting in the stitches.

"The damage doesn't look too bad. Just don't do anything strenuous with that arm," he said as he put the supplies back in his bag and left without another word.

Thorin watched him close the door. There was no guarantee he would be able to follow those instructions, not with Erebor on the horizon.

"We're matching," Bilbo said softly. When Thorin looked at him, he indicated Thorin's wound, then the place on his own shoulder where the dog's bite had scarred. "Sort of."

A measure of fondness warmed his chest, and Thorin wrapped his good arm around Bilbo. "I think you've got some catching up to do." His own torso was marked by several of the scars he'd received from his time as a soldier, and a few he'd gotten after the outbreak.

"Hm." Bilbo leaned against him. It was hard to find any real humor in the situation.

"I was wrong," Thorin said softly. "I was wrong to lie to you, and I was wrong about what I said afterwards."

"I don't know if you were," Bilbo whispered, looking down at his hands, which were trembling slightly.

"I never wanted that for you." He looked down, his throat tightening. "You have a good heart, Bilbo. It's not easy to keep something like that, not in this world."

A part of him envied it, the light that Bilbo carried within him that never seemed truly naive. And by bringing them all out here, it was his fault that that light had been dimmed.

"He was just a kid," Bilbo said. "He was Fíli's age. And I…" His voice cracked.

"You saved Fíli's life." Thorin squeezed his shoulders, wishing he could lift the guilt from them. "That's all that matters now."

Bilbo was silent for a long moment. "Does it get easier?" He finally looked up at Thorin, his eyes shining like he was afraid of the answer.

Thorin dropped his arm back to his side. He'd killed close to a dozen men back at the train station, had meant to kill more. And he hadn't seen them as anything more than moving targets, because after Frerin had died, something in the world had fractured like a broken mirror. There was his family, and the people trying to kill them. There were the living and the dead.

He still had to believe that he had some power to define those groups.

Blinking back memories, he looked at Bilbo. "For your sake…I hope it doesn't."

* * *

The sky was beginning to lighten, but it was still cold enough that Fíli could feel his fingers going numb. He was sitting on the curb just outside the motel, hunched with his elbows resting on his knees. Every shiver jostled the dull pain in his ribs. Nori and Ori were keeping watch at either end of the building, but if either of them had noticed him step out, they hadn't said anything.

Víli was still asleep in the room behind him. They'd slept near each other every night they'd been on the road, but last night had been the first that Fíli had curled up next to his dad since he was six years old. That last night had been because of a nightmare, but Fíli wasn't sure he'd actually gotten any sleep since they'd arrived at the motel.

The memory of the train station, of Balin's still body and the bloody fists striking his face, made him shudder. Even when Azog's group had taken him back at the warehouse, he'd never felt that helpless, that terrified. Tears pricked his eyes. He'd tried to fight back, and in the end had tried to get away, but the other man had been too fast, too strong.

He'd been so _stupid_, thinking he could fight, thinking he was more than just a weak kid pretending to be a soldier. The gun on his belt didn't mean shit.

A door swung open. Fíli turned to see Dwalin step out into the cold air, and became aware of the hot tears searing his skin.

Turning away, he dragged his sleeve across his face. Shame burned on his skin like hot grease, and he wanted nothing more than to claw it away.

"The hell are you doing up so early?" Dwalin stepped closer, and Fíli was distantly grateful that he was only acknowledging the time.

"Couldn't sleep," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Dwalin sat next to him with a sigh. He'd remained stonily silent ever since they'd left the train station, and after they'd arrived at the motel, he'd stationed himself in a chair next to the bed where Balin was resting. Fíli doubted he'd gotten any sleep either.

He scratched his forehead, careful of the stitches that Óin had put in above his eyebrow. He'd also said to watch for any signs of a concussion, though Fíli hadn't felt anything so far. Somehow his nose hadn't been broken either, though it still throbbed.

But his hands, his knuckles—the skin was perfectly intact, except for the tiny red spots where the shards of the broken window had bitten into his palms. He hadn't been able to land a single punch.

"I should've—"

"Don't even start with that," Dwalin growled, his tone sharp enough to shock Fíli into silence. "It doesn't fucking matter what you should have done. _We_ should have been there to protect you."

Fíli couldn't help but shrink a little under the force of Dwalin's anger, though he knew it wasn't directed at him. That had been a mantra passed between the group, in spoken words and silent glances, after the warehouse. And it only made him feel more like a little kid, like a liability that everyone had to look out for.

He wanted to see Dís again. If he shut his eyes, he could see her face, her warm smile, and he knew that she would have the answer he was looking for.

Wishing for it only made him feel more like a child.

_I have faith in you_, she'd said right before he'd left. As much as he wanted to see his mom and Kíli again, he couldn't go back to them like this. If he'd left them behind, it had to be for _something_.

"Hey." Dwalin patted his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. "We just want you to be safe, alright? That's all that matters."

Fíli glanced at him. "Does that mean you'll keep teaching me how to fight?"

Dwalin chuckled. He looked incredibly tired, with dark circles beneath his eyes and his wild brown hair sticking up in all directions. He grasped Fíli's shoulder again and shook him lightly. "Sure thing."

Fíli tried for a smile. He didn't mind his family protecting him—but he wanted them to make him stronger too.

Dwalin stood up with a sigh. "I'm gonna go check on Balin. You should get some rest." He turned and disappeared through the door again.

Fíli sat there for a while longer, then stood up. Maybe he would head back inside and try to sleep. It wasn't like they could really move on for the moment, not with everyone's injuries.

He tried to open the door quietly, but Víli still stirred as a crack of faint, early-morning sunlight entered the room. He pushed his hair out of his face and blinked in Fíli's direction.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He went to sit on the edge of the bed. Saying that didn't feel like as much of a lie anymore.

Víli groaned and rubbed a hand across his forehead. "What time is it?"

Fíli smiled slightly. Neither of his parents were morning people. When they'd been younger, he and Kíli had made a habit out of jumping on their bed to wake them up, so they wouldn't be late for school. "I don't know. I think I want to sleep in, though."

"Sounds good to me." Víli pulled the covers higher over his shoulders.

Sitting in the dark room, sleep was beginning to weigh on his eyelids. Suppressing a yawn, Fíli walked over to the other side of the bed and pulled the corner of the covers back.

A ragged scream echoed from the next room, followed by a gunshot.

The sound jolted through him like a physical blow, and Fíli staggered back from the bed.

"Shit!" Víli staggered out of bed. "What the hell was that?"

"I-I don't know." The words felt thick and heavy in his throat, even as his heart began to pound.

"Stay here." Víli tore open the door.

Feeling as if he was moving underwater, Fíli followed him outside.

Nori was already there, pushing open the door to Dwalin's room and darting inside, gun drawn. Ori was coming from the other direction, looking pale, and the other doors began to swing open.

They found Dwalin kneeling on the carpet, shoulders trembling with ragged sobs. The gun was on the floor, a black angle against the faded blue fabric.

And Balin was lying on the bed, with the blank, milky eyes of a walker and a ragged wound beneath his chin where the bullet had entered.

**I know this is a really short chapter, probably the shortest one to date. There was going to be one more scene at the end, but…yeah. It didn't feel right to continue after this last part. I am…sorry.**


	33. Chapter 33

**When I was writing this chapter, I was listening to Dr Ford from the Westworld soundtrack, which is such a sad, haunting song that I think is perfect for this part.**

**Chapter 33**

"When did it happen?"

"Must have been early this morning. Doesn't take long after, for…you know."

"_Shit_."

Bilbo leaned his forehead against the heels of his hands and let out a shaky sigh. The sun was fully up now, but it still felt like early morning—it was something about the drowsy, sickly shock that had settled over the motel.

They'd wrapped Balin's body in a clean sheet, though there was still a red stain on the bed, and a spatter of red on the dingy wallpaper that he couldn't look at for more than a few seconds. Dwalin had stormed off to the edge of the parking lot some time ago, and no one had worked up the nerve to follow him. Óin, Nori, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur were standing in a tight knot in the room, speaking in low tones. The last time Bilbo had seen Ori, he'd been bent double over the toilet in the next room, and he didn't know where the others were.

"We should head back," Óin muttered. "This whole thing's been one fucking disaster."

"I say we hunt down those sons of bitches," Nori said. His voice had a low, dangerous edge to it. "What if they follow us back to the farm?"

Bilbo finally lifted his head and looked up at the group from where he was sitting against the wall. It was a terrifying notion, that they were essentially stranded out here. Maybe it wasn't safe to go back to the farm, but even if they stayed in this area, there was the chance Azog's group would attack them again.

He stood up, wincing slightly as his stiff joints protested. One hand went, almost unconsciously, to check that his gun was still at his hip. "Is anyone on watch right now?"

"I was just about to ask the same thing," Thorin said, stepping through the doorway. He looked ragged, his skin pale and his hair disheveled. But there was something hard and impenetrable in his eyes. "We need to leave soon."

Bombur eyed him warily. "To go where?"

"We press on to the mountain. We need a place where we can defend ourselves."

Óin spread his hands. "Thorin, we can't go on like this. Fíli was almost beaten to death, Nori can barely walk, and you're not in great shape yourself."

"And we need to bury Balin," Bofur added quietly.

Thorin eyed each of them, his expression unchanging. "Take one of the cars," he said slowly. "Whoever wants to go back can go back. I'll continue on foot." He turned and left the room.

Óin and Bombur exchanged a glance, but Bilbo ignored them. He hurried out of the room and caught up to Thorin just outside.

"Thorin, wait." He grasped his arm, making him pause. "Please, just think this through."

"I have." He only half-turned to face him, his voice coming out in a growl. "I'm not turning back now."

"We have to!" Bilbo walked around him so they were facing each other. "Everyone is terrified, injured, exhausted. _Maybe_ we can try again at some point, but for now everyone needs a break. And that includes you."

"I'm not going back." Thorin was still refusing to meet his eyes. "But if you want to go, I won't stop you."

Bilbo clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to just start shaking him. "Thorin, it's not _safe_. We don't know what's out there, what's between us and Erebor. Getting back to the farm is going to be risky enough, but we all need to recover." He gripped Thorin's arms, staring into those clouded blue eyes. "I-I can't lose you to this."

"It's too late," he said lowly. "I can't turn back now."

"You _can_, you just won't," Bilbo snapped. "You're being incredibly selfish right now, you know that?"

Thorin looked down at him, eyes flashing. "Like I said, I'm not asking any of you to come with me. I don't need your protection, or your help." He pulled himself from Bilbo's grip and headed across the parking lot.

Bilbo watched him go, hands flexing helplessly, then stepped back inside.

* * *

Fíli was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the lines of the tiles until he thought they would be branded in his vision. The motel bathroom was filthy, the remains of some dark brown sludge sitting in an oval at the bottom of the tub, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He couldn't cry, either. There was only numbness, creeping over his limbs and up the back of his skull.

Balin was dead.

Balin, who had helped him with his homework at the dinner table, had taught him how to fold a perfect paper airplane, had only laughed when he'd caught Fíli sneaking cookies from the pantry.

He'd been shot right in front of him, and Fíli hadn't done _anything_ about it.

His throat tightened, the pain of it crashing over his numbness. But before the tears could come, the bathroom door swung open, and he looked up.

Víli offered him a tight, weary smile. "Ready to go?"

"We're leaving?" Fíli asked, dumbly. He didn't know where they were about to go, not after everything that had happened.

Víli nodded. "We're going home. I already packed up your stuff."

"No." The word burst from his lips, and it took a moment for him to realize that he'd said it. Fíli stood up, swaying slightly as the bathroom tile wavered in his vision, but he held his ground. "I'm not going back."

Víli's brow furrowed for a second, but he didn't look surprised. "Come on, Fíli. It's over."

"No." He brushed past him and stepped into the bedroom. "It's not over until we make it to the mountain."

"Fíli." He reached out and gripped his shoulder, gently. "You're hurt. You could have died, back there. I'm gonna take you back before anything else happens."

The pain and guilt in his father's voice nearly made him wince. He clenched his teeth. He didn't want him to feel like that—he didn't want any of them to look at his bruises and see their own failures.

"You don't get it," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "You couldn't protect me." Víli flinched at his words, and he forced himself to continue. "And that's not your fault. It's not _safe_ here, and for all we know, it's not going to be safe back at the farm, either. Those people are going to follow us until they kill us all."

"But it doesn't have to be you," Víli said hoarsely. "No one is expecting you to take care of this." He cast a pleading glance over Fíli's shoulder, and he turned to see Thorin standing in the doorway.

"Víli is right," Thorin said. His face was obscured in shadow. "This isn't your fight. Go back to the farm." He gestured out the door. "We fixed up one of the trucks in the parking lot. It's ready to leave when you are."

"_No_." Anger flushed up his chest, hot and energizing. "I'm coming with you. We're gonna finish this."

"I'm going to kill every single one of those bastards." Thorin stepped into the room, light falling over one half of his face. He looked even more ragged than Víli, but beneath it was a burning determination, reflected in Fíli's own gaze. "I'm going to make sure none of them ever hurt any of you. But you don't have to be a part of that."

"Fíli, we're just trying to keep you safe," Víli said.

He couldn't help but feel cornered, but he wasn't going to give up. "I've already made up my mind."

"Fíli." Thorin's voice had lowered to a growl, but there was a gleam of regret in his eyes. It was the same expression he'd worn after the warehouse, and in brief moments after the train station, and it made something desperate and wild unfurl in his chest. "You're not putting yourself through this. Not after—"

"I'm not him, you know," Fíli snapped before he could stop himself. "I'm not Frerin." He almost stopped at the stricken look on Thorin's face. "I…I am nobody's victim. I survived what happened at the warehouse, and the train station. I am _not_ here just so you can feel guilty about what you couldn't do. I survived, and I am going to make that mean something." He stumbled over the last few words as a sob rose in his throat. Once he was done, he stood still, glaring at Thorin and Víli in turn, daring either of them to argue.

Thorin stared at him for a long while. Something like anger rose in his eyes, but as soon as it had come, it was gone under an impassive mask. "I'm done making choices for the rest of you," he said lowly. "You can come with me or you can go back to the farm—that's on you." He turned and left the room.

With a weak sigh, Víli stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked more exhausted than Fíli had ever seen him, and the seed of guilt in his chest made itself known again. For a moment, he wondered if he was being selfish.

"You know I don't want this for you," he said after a long moment, directing his words at the carpet. "And I know I can't stop you, either."

Fíli couldn't speak. The guilt was growing like a foam, and bringing with it the sudden urge to flee the room. Willing his movements to be slow, he crossed the room and grabbed his pack. "I love you, dad."

Víli met his eyes with a tired smile, then moved to grab his own pack. "Let's go."

* * *

Dwalin was still standing at the edge of the parking lot like a forgotten statue. He must have been there for hours at this point, but his posture seemed almost timeless in its rage.

Thorin approached, letting his shoes scrape against the pavement so Dwalin would know he was coming. "We're getting ready to leave."

"To where?" His voice was low and rough, enough that it almost blended in with the scraping of his shoes on the pavement.

"We have a truck ready to carry…" He paused, the familiar chill of grief creeping over him, then forced it back. He wouldn't allow himself to feel any of it until he'd put a bullet in Azog's head. "To carry Balin back to the farm. I'm leading another group to Erebor."

Dwalin finally turned to face him. His eyes were like bruises, tinged red with the ghost of some greater pain lying beneath. "You're still going after that mountain? After everything?" His voice cut across the air like an accusation.

"Yes, after everything." Thorin met his stare, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. He would have thought that Dwalin of all people would understand. "Azog and his men cannot be allowed to live. And we need Erebor if we're going to retaliate."

Dwalin let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "That's all you can think about, isn't it?"

"None of us are going to be safe until we stop them."

"We were," he replied, his upper lip lifting in a snarl. "Five years wasn't a coincidence, and it wasn't damn luck. We had something, and then you convinced us that we didn't."

The words were soft-spoken, but they hit Thorin like a blow to the chest, knocking the air from his lungs.

"Who else is going to have to die before you give this up? If Bilbo had taken that bullet, would you still be here asking us to press on?"

Thorin's fist clenched at his side. "How dare you ask me that?"

Dwalin met his glare head on—a challenge. He looked for a moment as if he wanted to continue, but all he said was, "To hell with you." He brushed past him and made for the truck.

Some time later, the rumble of an engine sounded, and Dwalin pulled out of the parking lot.

Quivering with rage, Thorin made his way back to the motel. Fíli and his father were waiting by the door, looking travel-worn but ready to continue. Óin had his arms crossed, an ill-disguised glower on his face. Ori, looking pale, was standing next to Nori, who was trying to hide the fact that he'd shifted most of his weight onto his left leg. Bombur handed a rag to Bofur so he could clean the grease from the truck off his hands, while Bifur checked the ammo in his handgun.

Bilbo was leaning against the wall, his curls hanging limp against his forehead, staring at the ground as though he didn't have the energy to look any higher.

"Let's get a move on," Thorin said. He tried to comfort himself with the fact that most of the group had decided to continue with him. "I want to cover some ground before sundown."

**Another pretty short chapter. I'm trying to pace things properly with all of this emotional shit, so I hope you guys will bear with me. Next chapter is going to be more action-packed, and we are getting a new development that I'm pretty excited about.**


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

They were forced to take another set of backroads, and eventually they stopped to make camp in the woods. They set up a perimeter in silence, winding string and empty cans around a section of trees as a protective barrier, though Thorin assigned shifts for watch anyway.

Bilbo found he wasn't hungry at all, though he forced himself to eat his portion of cold beans. He needed to keep his strength up—they all did, though the energy in their camp was subdued and listless.

Hardly anyone had spoken since they'd left the motel. Dwalin and Balin's absence had left a gaping hole in their group, the specter of grief hanging heavy on all of them. The memory of the train station, of everything that had happened afterwards, had torn through any sense of security they'd had, leaving ragged unease like bullet holes.

An autumn chill settled over the forest that night. But even if it had been warmer, Bilbo doubted he would have been able to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, bloody images flashed in turn—the young man torn apart by three bullets, Fíli's bruised body, Balin lying on the motel bed, Thorin standing rigid and angry with red staining his shoulder.

They never should have come out here. The thought plagued him, drum-beating along with his pulse. If they'd stayed at the farm, Balin would still be alive. Fíli would still have that joyful light in his eyes. And he never would have been forced to fire that gun.

Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut as something in his chest tightened. Dís had told him to try and convince Thorin to stay behind. And perhaps if he'd really tried, he could have done it.

Tears welled up in his eyes, but crying felt wrong somehow. He sat up and shuddered a sigh into the chilly air. The others were lying nearby, though it was hard to tell if they'd actually found sleep. Nori and Víli were on watch, both of them staring blankly into the trees, as if they weren't really seeing them.

Slowly, he tip-toed across the damp leaves and over the string barrier. It was a short walk out of the woods and onto the road. Standing there in the open asphalt expanse felt just a little freer, allowed him to breathe easier. They'd hidden their vehicles in the forest, so it was just the two walls of trees and the empty road, stretching far in either direction.

Bilbo laid down in the center, over the faded yellow paint. Between the trees was a pathway of stars, mirroring the roads. They were brighter than they'd been before the outbreak, now that they didn't have to compete with city lights and such. There was something timeless about it, and it brought him a strange, almost frightening sense of peace.

A figure appeared in his periphery, and Bilbo started to push himself up, but he stopped when he realized it was only Fíli.

Wordlessly, Fíli laid down beside him, and Bilbo was reminded of that desolate night after the warehouse, when they'd lain side by side in the cold. He wondered with a slight frown if Fíli was blaming himself for the train station too.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. The bruises on his face had already begun to heal, and if his ribs were still bothering him, he didn't show it anymore.

"I'm fine," Fíli replied, the answer well-rehearsed. He was silent for a long moment. "You saved my life."

"I'm just glad I got there in time," he said softly. Despite the horror of what he'd done, he would have done it again, a hundred times over, if it meant keeping Fíli safe. That thought was easy enough to hold on to, to keep most of the guilt at bay.

"I'm sorry," Fíli said, and he kept his gaze on the sky when Bilbo looked at him in surprise. "I'm sorry you were forced to do that."

"Do you think it's your fault?"

Fíli said nothing, only glaring up at the stars.

"Do you remember what I said to you the last time?"

"It's not the same," he muttered. "I…I chose to come out here. Because I can fight."

Bilbo hummed in acknowledgement. "And I've seen you. You're a pretty good shot."

"So I shouldn't need protecting," Fíli said, so lowly it was almost a whisper.

He sighed. "You know, we don't protect you because we think that you're a burden, or that you can't take care of yourself." He waited until Fíli met his eyes, then said, "It's because we love you. That's all. We protect those that we love. Don't ever forget that."

Fíli held his gaze, his jaw trembling slightly, then sat up. He rested his elbows on his knees and shook his head. "It just…sucks. All of this."

"I know." Bilbo sat up as well. "I think we're all having doubts by now."

He lifted his gaze to the end of the road, where the higher slopes of the mountain were visible, and smiled sadly.

"But when you love someone, sometimes that means you have to make a sacrifice."

* * *

They were so close. The shape of the mountain loomed above them, the lower slopes already rising around them like a welcoming embrace.

Thorin tried to keep his impatience at bay as he stepped out of the car. They still had a ways to go, and not enough gas to finish the journey. He grabbed the siphon from the trunk and surveyed the street where they'd stopped.

It was a quiet suburban road, lined with townhouses on either end. Grass was already crawling through the cracks in the pavement. A few cars littered the road, painted with grime.

"Stay alert," Thorin said to the others. "Let's find some gas and move on."

As he continued down the road, a strange foreboding tickled the back of his mind. Something about the street looked a little too…clean. All the doors of the houses were shut. The glass beneath the broken windows had been swept away. A couple of cars a few feet away had been parked lengthwise in what was undoubtedly a makeshift barrier.

Bifur met his eyes from across the street and gave a brief nod—he'd seen the signs, too.

Thorin straightened, ready to call out to the rest of the group, and froze.

The walkers poured out of one of the side alleys, at least a dozen of them, and more were coming. Víli, Óin, and Fíli were the closest, and they all turned in surprise towards the snarling herd.

"Back to the cars!" Thorin shouted, sprinting towards them. "Let's go!"

Víli grabbed Fíli's arm and began pulling him away. Óin wasn't far behind them, but the walkers were swarming close.

The closest one reached out, but Thorin shot it in the head before it could grab anyone. The rest of the group was converging on the walkers, knives drawn and ready as the dead began to spread out.

A gunshot cracked across the street, and one of the walkers fell as a bullet tore through its head. Thorin spun towards the source of the noise, eyes widening. He hadn't heard a gunshot like that in years.

"Sniper! Get down!"

The group scrambled for cover—around the corners of the buildings, behind cars—even as the walkers trailed after them. Thorin ducked behind the barrier of vehicles and shot another walker before it could fall onto Nori. There was no point in bothering with stealth, not with a sniper on the other end of the street.

He shot a glance at the house at the very end, adrenaline pounding through his veins. The same bloodlust that had roared to life at the train station was reemerging. Another shot cracked across the open space, splattering a walker's brains on the pavement, and his grip tightened on his gun.

The rest of the group was trying desperately to fend off the walkers while staying behind cover. This sniper, whoever he was, would keep them pinned down and vulnerable, leaving them wide open to an attack. Thorin scanned the street again. If this was another one of Azog's traps, they would all be slaughtered.

He signaled Bifur, who was crouching behind a small stairwell. "Draw his fire. I'm going to take this guy out."

Among the gunshots and growls of the walkers, it was hard to hear, but Bifur's nod was enough of an indication that he understood Thorin's intentions.

With his pulse pounding in his ears, Thorin darted down one of the western alleys, on the opposite side of the street from where the walkers had appeared. He turned the corner, eyes flickering to each shadow in search of enemies, but the ragged yards behind the buildings were empty. He ran across the overgrown grass, keeping low.

In what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, he'd reached the house at the end of the street. He circled around to the back and hoisted himself up through one of the broken windows. His feet landed a little too heavily on the wood floor, but the room was empty.

Thorin made a quick circuit through the rest of the first level, but it was empty. Either the sniper was acting alone, or his companions had planned an ambush elsewhere. The second floor was empty as well, though the nests of blankets and small pile of rations told him this place was more than a temporary shelter.

He took the steps two at a time to the third floor, which consisted of nothing more than a small attic. The sniper rifle and stand were propped up against the window at the far end, but their owner was nowhere in sight.

As Thorin stepped into the room, the man came at him from the right, where he'd been hiding behind the door. The knife swung in a wide arc, but Thorin caught the man's wrist before the blade could enter his chest. He drove a solid punch into the man's ribs and pushed him back against the wall. The knife clattered to the floor. The man brought one foot up and kicked him hard in the stomach, forcing him back. He bent down, lunging for the knife, but Thorin was faster. He seized the man by the back of the shirt and threw him to the side. Before he could recover, Thorin had planted one knee on his chest and drew his own knife. He brought it down, aiming for the skull, but the man managed to catch his forearm with both hands, just barely stopping the blow. Gritting his teeth, Thorin pushed down against the man's grip. The blade inched towards his face.

"_Dad!_"

The shriek made him freeze, though he didn't move the knife. Thorin glanced to the other side of the room.

A girl, about Kíli's age, was standing in the doorway of a closet in the corner of the room. He must have missed it when he first entered, but he was more concerned about the gun aimed at his chest. Her eyes were wide and terrified, and she was shaking badly, but he knew her shot wouldn't miss.

Thorin glanced down at the man, but his eyes were on the girl. The look in his eyes was something between an assurance and a goodbye.

Slowly, he lifted his arm, though he kept his grip on his knife. He stood up and collected the discarded blade on the floor.

As soon as he was free to move, the man pushed himself to his feet and placed himself between Thorin and the girl. "It's alright," he said to her. "Give me the gun." He held a hand back for the weapon, though his eyes never left Thorin.

They stood in silence for a moment, regarding each other. The other man was thin, weakened by hunger, but he'd fought hard. Thorin knew if it had been any of them protecting Fíli or Kíli or Gimli, they would have done the same.

"I wasn't shooting at your people," the man finally said, lowly. "I was trying to kill the roamers."

"We had no way of knowing that." Briefly, he glanced down at the gun in his hand.

His eyebrow quirked upwards. "Most people hear the gunshots and run."

Instead of responding, Thorin stepped closer to the window. The shots were still going off in the street, but they'd lessened in frequency. He watched as his group finished off the remaining walkers, standing in a tighter formation now that the sniper shots had stopped. He glanced to the side and realized a pair of teenagers had appeared from one of the alleys and were firing at the walkers as well.

The man stepped up to the window as well, and he tensed as he noticed the newcomers—most likely his other children, or at least part of his group. Thorin was beginning to suspect there weren't many people with him, if the two kids were out there on their own. The fact that the younger girl was carrying a gun was only more evidence to that fact.

Thorin regarded him coolly. "We should probably get down there."

The man glanced at him, and whatever anxiety he was feeling slipped behind a wary mask. "Lead the way."

Under different circumstances, he would have insisted otherwise, but he understood he was doing this to protect his daughter. The girl was standing close to the man, glaring at him. Thorin nodded once and headed for the stairs.

By the time they reached the group on the street, all the walkers were dead. The two teenagers ran to meet their father. Thorin left them for the moment and approached his own family, looking everyone over for injuries. Most of them were spattered with walker blood, but looked unharmed.

The two groups faced each other. The man's eyes never stopped moving, scanning each member of Thorin's group, even as his two older children flanked him.

"I suppose I should thank you all for taking out that herd," he finally said.

"Would've been easier if we weren't being shot at," Bifur muttered.

Before the man could respond to that, Nori asked, "So, do any of these cars have gas?'

The man shook his head. "We used it all on the generator." He assessed their group again. "But perhaps we could trade something else."

"What were you thinking?" Thorin asked, though he already had a guess.

"We have ammunition, some fishing gear. We could trade it for food, if you have any to spare," he said slowly, like he was trying not to sound too eager.

"Fishing gear?" Bofur echoed.

He nodded. "We used to live down by the lake. There were more of us. But the whole place burned down in some freak accident, so we moved up here."

Thorin narrowed his eyes slightly. He'd seen pictures of the wreckage in the notes on Erebor, and he shared Ro's suspicion that it had been more than an accident.

"We have food to trade," Thorin said. "We'll take what ammunition you can spare."

The man sent them another wary glance, then gestured for them to follow him back to the house.

* * *

Fíli took another bite of his rice and beans, glad for some hot food for once. Their group was camped out in the living room of the house at the end of the street, filling the air with quiet conversation.

Once Bilbo had found out that Bard, the man with the sniper rifle, had a portable stove in his possession, he'd somehow convinced Thorin to stay there for the night, for the opportunity of a hot meal and a relatively sheltered place to sleep. They were all grateful for the small comfort, despite the shroud of grief still hanging above them.

Bard was standing by the window, talking with Nori and Óin, though Fíli could tell by the flicker of his eyes that he was keeping watch on everyone in the room. Tilda, his youngest daughter, was sitting nearby. She'd kept a permanent, defensive scowl on her face for most of the night, but Bofur had eventually charmed her with a few clumsy magic tricks.

Fíli's composure wavered. Balin had always been good with card tricks.

He dropped his gaze back to his food. Bard's other two children, Bain and Sigrid, were sitting together on the other side of the room, talking quietly with one another. They were the first people his age he'd seen in years, and at first he hadn't been able to stop staring. He felt self-conscious in a way he hadn't for a long time, like every bite of food he took, every awkward faltering glance, he was somehow doing wrong.

He wasn't sure he knew how to be a kid anymore. Even around Kíli and Gimli, he'd always been the big brother, always focused on setting a good example. And then after the train station, he'd tried to shed any sense that he was still a child. It had felt like it was only weighing him down.

Bain and Sigrid were moving across the room, towards him, but Fíli didn't acknowledge that he'd seen them until they sat down next to him on the couch.

"Hey." Sigrid smiled at him. She was pretty—or maybe she was just the first girl he'd seen in years.

"Hey." Fíli fiddled with his plastic fork, struggling for words. He wasn't great at small talk, and there hadn't been much opportunity to practice it during the apocalypse. He wasn't sure if they would even care, but at this point he'd probably been silent for way too long. He looked up and said the first thing that came to mind. "So, are you guys twins?"

"No," Bain said with a glance at his sister, who was smirking slightly. "I'm older by two years."

He didn't really look it, with his soft, rounded features and large blue eyes. If anything, Fíli would have guessed that Sigrid was the older one. But they both carried a weariness in their eyes, the same kind he'd seen in the mirror.

"So, you're the youngest one in your group?" Bain asked.

"Yeah. I mean, I have a younger brother, but—" He stopped himself. He didn't think these two were bad people, necessarily, but something in his gut told him he shouldn't be giving out information like that. Azog's leering grin flashed in his memory, and he shifted in his seat. "He, uh, didn't come with us."

"Too bad. Tilda could probably use a playmate." Sigrid glanced at her sister. She was leaning against the wall now, her head resting against Bard's leg, with a book on her lap. Fíli couldn't tell if she was bored or just dozing off.

He could picture it, then, like interlocking pieces of a puzzle. Kíli could be friends with Tilda. He would have Sigrid and Bain to talk to. And maybe Bard could find a way to relax. As protective as everyone was in his family, he couldn't imagine having to look after three children on his own in this world.

"You know…" He turned to the two of them. "You're the first people we've seen in a long time. I mean, people that weren't trying to kill us."

Both of them nodded somberly.

"We've been pretty lucky," Sigrid said. "People usually don't come this far east—I think most of them tried to get to the coast. And we usually don't get big groups of roamers. The noise from the guns bounces around the foothills, keeps them confused."

So apparently they'd just had some shit luck with the walkers from earlier. Fíli glanced at Bard again. "It's cool that your dad's a sniper. Was he in the military?"

"No," Bain said. "He picked it up from the wreckage of some military camp nearby. Taught himself how to shoot it." He smiled slightly. "He's gonna teach us how, someday."

"Someday," Sigrid grumbled, leaning back on the couch with her arms crossed. "Anyway, you weren't a bad shot yourself. I saw you taking out the roamers, back there."

Fíli averted his eyes, blushing slightly. "Yeah. I've, uh, had a lot of practice."

Tapping his fork against his empty bowl, Bain looked around. "I think this is the best we've eaten in weeks. Food's been getting kind of low, so…I guess we're lucky you guys showed up when you did."

"It's easier to go on runs with a bigger group," Fíli said. The daydream hovering at the corner of his mind expanded. There would be more than enough food to spare in Erebor. Their two groups could be together, could be _safe_, within the mountain.

He was almost tempted to tell them about their plan. But as he glanced around the room, seeing Nori's uneasy movements and Thorin glaring out the window like Azog was standing on the other side, he knew it wouldn't be a smart move. He'd known these people for less than a day, anyway.

But there was something about meeting new people, seeing friendly faces and knowing there was still kindness and community outside the bubble he'd been living in for the past five years, that made something ache in his chest. He wanted to go back to trusting. Maybe that would be something of a possibility once they had Erebor.

Fíli turned back to Sigrid and Bain and smiled slightly. "I hope your luck turns around soon."

**I really love the first scene between Bilbo and Fíli. This wasn't in the outline but I felt that they needed to talk, and it ended up being a parallel to that one scene from Chapter 21.**

**Also, next chapter is going to be It. Like, the beginning of the end. We're not yet close to the final chapter, but we're definitely getting there. By my estimates, there should be about eight chapters left, which seems like a lot. I hope it doesn't seem like I'm dragging things out, there's just a lot I need to cover and I want to pace it correctly. See you all next week!**


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

Bilbo woke sometime in the middle of the night, consciousness flooding back in like the flip of a light switch. It had become something of a habit recently, since they'd started sleeping somewhere other than the farm.

He shifted slightly, taking in the strange angles of the room. After a moment, it came back to him. They were all crowded in the living room of Bard's house. Óin was sitting by the door, his rifle lying across his lap. Bard had taken his children upstairs at some point, and was probably standing guard as well.

His gaze fell to the solid form beside him. At some point, Thorin must have lain down next to him, though they had barely spoken to each other since the motel. He was facing away from him, but Bilbo could tell from the rise and fall of his chest that he was awake.

He wound an arm around Thorin's chest, hugging him close. He pressed his forehead against Thorin's back and listened to him breathe.

After a minute, Thorin shifted, and Bilbo moved back to let him roll over. Even in the dim light, he could see the exhaustion weighing on his face, the ever-deepening shadows beneath his eyes.

"Still can't sleep?" he whispered.

Thorin let out a soft grunt that might have been a reply. "We just need to make it there. To Erebor."

"That's all you can think about."

He hadn't meant it as an accusation, but Thorin still lowered his gaze. "I shouldn't have…pushed you away, back at the motel. I'm sorry."

"You've been a little obsessed, lately. It wouldn't kill you to take a step back and look at the big picture."

His expression darkened slightly. "We need to make it to somewhere safe. _That_ is the big picture. I just don't want anyone else getting hurt."

"I know." Bilbo sighed. He didn't feel like arguing this particular point at the moment.

"We're close. It shouldn't take more than a day to reach the mountain from here."

"And afterwards?" Bilbo asked. He was thinking about locking Thorin in a bedroom and not letting him out until he'd gotten a full eight hours. "When we make it inside…what then?"

"We'll have to make sure everything is fully operational—the security systems, the generator, air filtration. Everything is powered by a hydroelectric—" He stopped as Bilbo put a hand on his cheek, resting one thumb over his lips.

"That's not what I mean. Let's say every single thing is in perfect condition, we've got enough rations to last us seventy years, and we get everyone from the farm to Erebor. What are you going to do then?"

Thorin was silent, even after Bilbo moved his hand so he could speak. His brow furrowed slightly. "There's always going to be something to do."

Bilbo let out a soft laugh. "I know. There always is with you. I meant something _more_." He moved his thumb again, tracing light patterns across his beard. "You know, when we were living at the farm, Óin was working on his poetry. Bofur told me he built that cabin mostly for fun. Ori painted that mural on the side of the barn." He smiled slightly. "I'm thinking about writing a book."

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "You want me to get a hobby."

"I want you to start _living_. Not just surviving." He searched Thorin's face, all traces of humor gone. "That's all I want for you. I just want you to find something that makes you happy."

Thorin looked at him for a long moment, something like sadness swimming in his blue eyes. He reached out, pulling Bilbo closer and wrapping both arms around him. Bilbo settled into the embrace, leaning his head against Thorin's chest.

"Bilbo…"

But whatever Thorin had been going to say, he didn't finish it. He lay there in silence, and Bilbo listened to the low drumbeat of his heart until his breaths had finally evened out.

* * *

"Is that it?" Bilbo asked.

Thorin nodded, his eyes fixed on the hulking shape at the top of the slope. Their group was crouched in the brush, looking up the mountainside at the reinforced steel door set in the rock.

It had been a rather treacherous journey upwards, having to walk through the brush and up rocky inclines to finally reach their goal. At Thorin's insistence, they'd left their cars at the chain-link fence that skirted the lower slopes and continued on foot to avoid the security cameras marked on the map in Thorin's notes.

They'd left Bard's house in relatively high spirits, both from a good, hot meal and the chance to meet people that weren't trying to kill them. The journey had been quiet so far, and now a breathless anticipation settled on the group as they finally set eyes on the thing they'd come so far to find. The sun was descending in the sky, giving them about an hour left of daylight.

"What now?" Bofur asked.

"We find the vent," Thorin said, checking the map he'd stowed in his pocket. "Should be no more than a twenty minute's walk from here." He turned to Nori, who nodded.

"No!" Ori clamped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You're not going in there."

Nori glanced at him. "The hell are you talking about?"

Ori met his gaze, jaw set. "I've been watching you since the train station. You try and hide it, but you can barely walk. I'm not letting you go in there, not with your injury."

Nori looked back at Thorin, who looked away as a flash of guilt appeared in his eyes. He'd been too focused on Erebor to really take into account anyone's injuries, including his own. But to be fair, Bilbo reasoned, Nori had also been making an effort to hide it.

It was a bit of a weak point in their plan, now that he thought about it. They needed someone small to enter the vent, and the only people small enough to do it besides Nori were Ori, who was missing a hand, and Fíli, and no one really felt like letting him into a mountain inhabited by a potential psychopath.

They had only Ori, Fíli…and himself.

Bilbo sighed and straightened. "I'll go."

Everyone turned to him with various looks of protest, which he intended to put to rest as soon as possible.

"Someone has to do it, and I'm not injured. Now, let's get a move on before we lose any more daylight."

He met Thorin's eyes. There was something like fear there, but after a moment, he sighed and nodded.

"Wait here, and watch the door," he said to the others, then turned to Bilbo. "Let's go."

He slipped the crowbar from their duffel bag of extra weapons, and the two of them started through the brush, heading west.

They moved in silence, walking through shadows and orange light. Thorin had to check the map a few times to make sure they were heading in the right direction, so Bilbo kept his gun at the ready in case any walkers (or people) were lurking in the trees.

Too soon, they'd reached the vent. It was nothing more than a small, rusted grate in the side of the hill, half-hidden by brush. Thorin pulled away a handful of branches, then used the crowbar to pry it open. The metal came apart with a screech and a snap, making them both tense, but the woods remained still and silent.

Thorin straightened, but stood by the metal shaft, like he was afraid Bilbo was going to climb inside without saying anything. After a moment, he lifted his gaze. "Can I ask you something?"

Bilbo felt a small, sad smile lift his lips. "Something that can't wait?"

"Why did you come with me this far? After everything..." He swallowed, letting the painful end to his sentence hang in the air.

"I meant what I said that night. I want you to be happy. I want this place for us, for Fili and Kíli and Gimli and everyone else. And I want this for you. Because I love you."

The words slipped out, nearly surprising him, but hearing it out loud didn't scare him. He was only unhappy that he'd waited until this moment to say it, and that somehow it felt like a goodbye.

Thorin stared at him for a long time. Bilbo couldn't quite identify the emotion in his eyes, but he looked like he was drowning in it.

He stepped forward, cupping Bilbo's face in both hands, and pulled him into a kiss. Bilbo kissed him back, taking in the feel of him, the warmth of his touch, the indomitable strength that never seemed to leave him. For a moment, he was afraid that Thorin wouldn't let go, and that he wouldn't have the strength to pull away, either.

But then Thorin moved back, leaving only an inch of space between them, breath hitching like he wanted to say something. Bilbo put both hands on his cheeks, gently stroking through his beard, and smiled. It was enough, for the moment, to hold him close.

After another minute, Thorin dropped his hands to his sides and stepped away so Bilbo would have access to the vent.

"It's been a long time since I've been inside," he said. "But if my memory serves me, the entrance should be on the first floor. There are several basement and upper levels, but there should be signs to guide you. The door should be easy to open, and…we'll be waiting for you."

Bilbo forced a smile, and closed his hands into fists so he wouldn't be tempted to reach out. This wasn't a goodbye. He was going to see Thorin and the others soon, probably in another fifteen minutes if everything went according to plan.

He tried to ignore the feeling in his gut that was telling him it wouldn't.

"And if Smaug is still in there…" Thorin laid a hand on his shoulder, a fierce light coming into his eyes. "Do _not_ engage. Find a way to let us in, and we'll take him down together."

Bilbo nodded, trying not to frown too deeply. It still didn't sit right with him, what the others planned to do. But there was no way to tell what was going to happen until they were already inside. At this point, he doubted that he could convince Thorin to change his course.

"I'll see you soon, then."

Thorin opened his mouth, and again seemed on the verge of saying something, but he only dipped his head and retrieved a pair of walkies from his pack. "I don't know if the signal will reach, but we can try and stay in touch with these."

"Alright." He clipped the walkie to his belt, then crouched down in front of the vent.

"Be safe," Thorin said quietly, like he was afraid saying it out loud would confirm the danger Bilbo was walking into.

"I will," he whispered back, then turned and began crawling inside the cramped, musty space.

* * *

They'd come to Erebor armed to the teeth with knives and guns, had enough food for another two weeks, and had packed plenty of other survival tools.

Bilbo was beginning to wonder why no one had thought to bring a duster.

The inside of the vent was covered in dust, which was only a little better than the layer of grime that covered the first few feet past the entrance. The stuff had quickly turned his hands black and clung to his skin, making his palms feel uncomfortably dry.

His muscles were already aching from moving through the cramped space, which showed no signs of ending. The tiny flashlight clamped between his teeth only lit up the gray space a few feet in front of him, and was really only useful for illuminating spiderwebs right before he crawled into them.

If he was being honest with himself, it was easier to think about the physical discomforts he was experiencing rather than his growing dread of what he was going to find at the end of this metal shaft.

He didn't like the idea of being stuck in a strange compound with a potential psychopath lurking somewhere inside. But he'd faced evil men before. What really worried him was the possibility that Smaug was a sane, rational person—selfish, perhaps, but not bent on killing any of them.

If it came to it, would he be able to persuade the others to spare his life? He didn't know if Thorin would allow something like that, after everything. And if he wasn't, he didn't like to think what that would mean for their relationship.

_I love you_. He had no intention of taking the words back, but he felt cold inside every time he remembered Thorin's silence after the fact. The way he'd kissed him could have meant anything, but it hadn't really been the right moment to ask.

Bilbo sighed and closed his eyes. After this was over, when they were in a safe place and had a moment alone, they were going to have to talk.

A glint up ahead caught his eye, and he sped up his pace as much as he could. He'd finally reached the end of the shaft, which had luckily been a straight shot, but now his path was blocked by the grate on the other side.

Bilbo clicked off his flashlight and stowed it in his pocket, then peered through the metal slats. The space on the other side was dim, but he could make out the general shape of the hallway, and the seven-foot drop to the floor.

He pushed against the grate, which held fast, and let out a low grumble. He should have asked Thorin for the crowbar, though he wasn't sure he'd be able to use it in the small space.

Sliding his knife from his belt, he wedged the blade in the small crack between the grate and the wall. After a few moments of twisting and prying, it began to come loose, and he lifted one hand to give it a shove. It broke loose from the wall and clattered against the floor, sending a ringing echo through the hall.

"_Shh_," he hissed at it and ducked back into the vent, panic making his pulse thunder in his ears. He waited long enough that his legs began to cramp up from the uncomfortable position, but no one came to investigate.

Maybe whoever was inside hadn't heard the noise. Or maybe, he hoped desperately, there was no one inside to hear it.

After another few minutes, he shimmied out of the vent and fell to the floor, landing rather painfully on his back. With a wince, he pushed himself up and pulled the walkie from his belt.

"I made it in."

No response.

With a frown, Bilbo put it away and looked around. The hallway was rather nondescript, just plain white walls and a few pipes running along the surface. A red box with a fire extinguisher was attached to the wall a few feet away.

If he'd come around the west side of the mountain, then keeping to the right would hopefully bring him back to the general area of the front door. Clicking on his flashlight, Bilbo began walking.

His footsteps sounded thunderously loud in the blankness of the hallway, and he caught himself tip-toeing a few times. But he didn't have time for stealth. His best bet was to find the door and open it as quickly as possible.

The hallway turned a corner, revealing another nondescript corridor. Bilbo swung his flashlight beam over a door to the left. It was painted white too, and unlabeled. He was wondering if there was a map of the interior anywhere, or if he was even on the right floor, when a voice crackled out of the darkness.

"_Hello?_"

Bilbo felt his heart stop for a moment. He swung his flashlight around, casting erratic, flitting beams over the white walls. His other hand gripped his gun so tight it hurt. "W-Who's there?"

"_Oh, you can't see me_." A hissing noise that might have been a chuckle issued from the wall, and Bilbo realized it was coming from a speaker. "_But I'm watching you through the security cameras_."

He found the speaker nestled in one corner, and a small camera next to it. Apprehension prickled on the back of his neck.

"_I can see outside, too. Are those your friends, waiting by the front?_"

Bilbo swallowed, finding his mouth was suddenly dry. "W-We didn't know anyone was already in here. They sent me t-to let them in." Half a truth seemed better than a complete lie.

"_Ah. That's understandable. I haven't been outside in a while_." His voice was relaxed, conversational. He sounded almost glad.

"I-I don't want anyone to get hurt," Bilbo said, and that was at least mostly true. "We, uh, we can talk this out. We don't have to fight."

"_You want to let your friends in? You look a little lost right now_."

The lights turned on, and Bilbo flinched as bright white filled his vision. He looked up, blinking painfully, and realized the entire length of the hallway had been illuminated. He took a couple steps forward. Some unnamed dread was screaming at him to run.

"Just tell me where the door is. I'll let my people in, and we can talk about this." He hated the way his voice was wavering.

"_Oh, don't bother. I'll let them in myself._"

There was a low sliding sound, then a breath that crackled through the speaker, like he'd leaned closer to deliver one final sentence:

"_And then you can watch them die_."

**So I was looking back on my outline, and I had a note for that scene where Bilbo enters the mountain, and THAT was supposed to be the love confession scene. Can you imagine? Anyway, I obviously didn't have the patience to wait that long, and I think I made the right choice.**

**I also want to say real quick that I just realized this site doesn't email me every time I get a PM, so if I haven't been responding to messages from y'all, it's because I read them for the first time yesterday (insert clown emoji). I will try to check my inbox more often lol**


	36. Chapter 36

**Warning for a pretty intense injury at the end of this chapter (specifically of the stabbing sort…)**

**Chapter 36**

Thorin wanted nothing more than to pace.

But they had to stay as still as possible to keep out of sight. All they could do was crouch in a tight group down the slope from the front door, anxiously waiting for the slightest crackle of the radio or movement from within the mountain.

He checked the walkie on his belt to make sure the battery was full, that he was on the right channel, then put it back and checked the ammo in his gun. It must have been the fiftieth time he'd done this, but he needed _something_ to release the nervous energy gnawing at his limbs.

For all he knew, Bilbo could be dead already, killed by Smaug or through some horrible accident, and they would never know. The sun was going down—they could spend the whole night crouched here, waiting in the dark. How many hours would he wait until he resigned himself to the fact that he would never see that warm smile again, that he would never get to return the words Bilbo had said to him?

Thorin let out a short breath as something in his chest tightened. He loved Bilbo, more than anyone he'd ever been with, but he wasn't sure he deserved that love in return, not after everything he'd put them through.

Bifur perked up, and the entire group tensed. "Someone's coming up this way."

Thorin's grip tightened on his gun as he spotted a muscular figure walking through the trees. Then shock thundered through his limbs as Dwalin's scowling face appeared through a gap in the branches.

Bifur whistled to him, the noise high and sharp, and Dwalin turned in the direction of their group. Recognition loosened some of the tension on his brow, and he began making his way up the slope. He turned to gesture at someone behind him, and Thorin realized he wasn't alone. His eyes narrowed as Bard and his three children followed him up the side of the mountain.

"Saw the cars out by the gate, knew it had to be you all," Dwalin said by way of greeting. His eyes landed on Thorin's face, briefly. There was none of the steely anger that had been there the last time they'd spoken, but there was no forgiveness, either.

Thorin frowned. It was possible they'd been seen by some of the security cameras, if they hadn't known the safe way to proceed up the mountain. But for the moment, he was more concerned with another question.

"Why did you come back?"

"Trouble," Dwalin said, gesturing back down the mountainside. "A herd of walkers—biggest one I've ever seen. It's headed this way, and the fence won't stop them."

"They've probably reached our town by now," Bard added, adjusting the sniper rifle slung over his back. "If we'd been inside, they might have torn the building down. I ran into your friend here, and he warned me to leave. Mentioned there might be a safer place to wait this out." His eyes flickered up the hill, where the door was barely in sight.

"We're working on it," Thorin said, and one hand brushed over the walkie. "How close is the herd?"

"Hard to tell. They're pretty scattered. But their numbers…" Dwalin's expression darkened, and he shook his head.

He must have turned around before reaching the farm—he'd probably been cut off by the herd. Thorin could only assume that he'd buried his brother somewhere, quickly, so he'd have time to warn them. He'd given that up so he could try and keep them safe.

Bard opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, the walkie on Thorin's belt crackled.

He snatched it up in an instant, his heart pounding. "Bilbo?"

"_Thorin—"_ The speaker buzzed with static. "_—here. I'm—the door...he's going to try to—the—just stay—" _The signal cut out entirely, making the breath freeze in Thorin's lungs, before it delivered one final fragment: "_—a way back—"_

They waited a long, breathless minute, but the walkie remained silent.

Even through the crackling interference, Bilbo had sounded breathless, terrified. Smaug must have discovered him. Thorin lowered the walkie, his veins swimming in adrenaline.

"We have to get him out of there," Ori said, his face pale.

Thorin took in a shuddering breath. There was no way in except the vent, and the door if Bilbo miraculously managed to open it. He already knew none of them felt comfortable waiting for the second option. He clenched his jaw. Why was he only seeing now how incredibly _stupid _this plan had been?

"I'll go."

Everyone turned to Fíli. He was standing straight, eyes flashing fear and blue fire.

"I'm the only one that can make it through the vent. I'll find Bilbo and help him get out."

"I can't let you do that," Víli said, his brow pinched. "I'm not letting you go in there when there's a psychopath—"

"But we have to help Bilbo," Fíli snapped, glaring at his father. "We _have_ to, and I'm the only one who can do it." He looked around at all of them, the dauntless determination in his gaze a haunting mirror of his mother. "We protect the people we love." He held the words up like a shield, like he needed protection from whatever they were going to say next.

Thorin felt a sudden tightness in his chest, the same sensation that had nearly overwhelmed him when Bilbo had looked into his eyes and told him that he loved him.

This was his _family_—the one constant in all the chaos they'd survived over the past few years. And he knew now more than ever that he would do anything to protect them.

"We'll find a way to get Bilbo out of there," he said. He looked around at the group as they all turned to him. "The rest of you, bring the cars up here. We'll circle around the north side of the mountain, try and get out of the herd's path." He took a deep breath. "And then we're going back to the farm."

An almost imperceptible shiver of relief ran through the group. Fíli was the only one who didn't relax at all, and he fixed Thorin with a challenging stare.

"Tell me where to go. Let's just get this over with."

Thorin glanced at Víli. The skin around his eyes was tight with worry and guilt, but after a moment, he nodded. "We're gonna need a plan, first."

"Let's start moving," Dwalin said. "We need to be gone before the herd gets here."

"Alright." Thorin gave a short nod, and that was all it took for the group to spring into action. The majority of the group began moving downhill, to where their cars were parked. Ori draped Nori's arm around his shoulder, and held fast when he tried to pull away. Bard motioned for his children to head in that direction as well. Fíli shot an expectant glance at Thorin, with Víli at his shoulder.

The three of them went in the opposite direction, uphill and towards the vent. They moved as fast as they could on the uneven ground, shoving aside stray branches and dry, winding brambles.

Thorin gripped his gun as panic swirled in his chest. _We're coming, Bilbo_.

"We still need a plan," Víli said, slightly out of breath as they finished scaling a rocky incline. "We need to know where Bilbo is, and how the hell we're gonna get through that door."

"Forget the door," Thorin said. "We need to get Bilbo out, and our best bet is probably the way he came in."

He turned to Fíli, who was walking slightly behind him. His brow was slightly pinched with apprehension, but his eyes were hard.

He turned back to the trees ahead, and his eyes landed on the gleam of a rifle just ahead.

"_Get down!"_

Thorin dropped into a crouch just as a bullet tore through the tree behind him, raining shards of bark onto them. Víli had grabbed Fíli and pulled him down to lie nearly flat against the dirt.

Thorin growled under his breath as bullets peppered the air above them. They were so close to the end, and their luck had gone to shit in every way it could.

He pushed himself behind a tree and swung the assault rifle from his shoulder. It had seemed like overkill at the time, but after the train station, he'd needed its comforting weight—and he was grateful for it now.

"You can't hide from us forever, assholes!" shouted one of the men.

Gritting his teeth, Thorin leaned out from behind cover and fired into the trees. He recognized a couple of the faces as they ducked out of sight, and a tide of rage washed over him.

Azog and all of his men were going to die today. He would make sure of it.

He turned to Víli, who was crouching with Fíli behind another tree. "Get him out of here."

Víli had his own gun raised with white knuckles, looking breathless. "You'll be right behind us?"

Thorin turned to fire at the men again, and felt a grim satisfaction as red exploded from one's chest, and he fell with a choked cry. There were too many damn trees—if they didn't move now, the men could flank them in seconds. "_Go_."

"Come on." Víli grabbed Fíli's arm and began pulling him away, crouching to try and stay out of the line of fire.

"Thorin!" Fíli's wide eyes flashed in his field of vision for one moment, and then the two of them were sprinting down the hill and out of sight.

Thorin fired once more at the men, then sprinted down the hill a short distance, scanning either side for anyone trying to flank them. He needed to hold them off for as long as he could, keep them on this side of the mountain until his family could get to safety.

And then—

One hand briefly touched the walkie at his belt. Every moment he knew Bilbo was in danger, and that he could do _nothing_ about it, was like a knife to the chest.

Bullets pattered the trees around him like rain, and Thorin breathed in smoke and violence.

He would tear apart the mountain itself before he lost anyone else.

* * *

Bilbo thought his lungs were going to burst.

He gasped another panting breath, fighting against the burning sensation in his chest. It felt like he'd been running down these blank white halls for hours, but it had probably only been a few minutes.

He needed to find that damn door before Smaug reached it—though he wasn't optimistic about his odds. The man likely knew the entire compound like the back of his hand, and Bilbo was well and truly lost.

There was no telling whether his walkie message had reached the group outside. He'd been repeating the same message over and over until he ran out of breath while desperately trying to find the exit. At one point, he thought he'd heard the low crackle of voices on the other end, but he hadn't been able to make out anything else.

All he could hope for now was that they wouldn't do anything stupid.

The hallway changed suddenly, carved rock blending seamlessly into white-painted concrete. Bilbo slowed for a moment to take in the change, heaving in another breath, then pushed himself into a run again. He had no idea if he was getting close, but at least his surroundings were different, now.

The walkie on his belt crackled. Bilbo snatched it up, hope leaping into his chest, but he froze as an unfamiliar, serpentine voice sounded from the other end.

"_You're getting close. Try the stairs to the left. One flight up, and you're almost there_."

There was a dark amusement in Smaug's voice, and Bilbo nearly threw the walkie in revulsion. He must have found their frequency. He'd probably been listening to Bilbo repeat his frantic message.

He paused by the doorway to the left, the small window at the top showing a stairwell just beyond. It was very clearly a trap, but some desperate hope made him hesitate. Smaug was playing games with him, but he _needed_ to get back to the others. He had his fortress, his cameras, but in the end it was only one man against the ten of them.

Almost unconsciously, his hand fell to his gun. If it came down to it…

"_Oh, come on. I gave you a head start. Aren't you going to take it?"_

Bilbo drew his gun and wrenched open the door.

He ran up the stairs, ignoring the burn in his legs. He turned the corner to the second half of the flight, raising his gun to ward off potential enemies, but there was no one there.

He wished Thorin was with him. In all the chaos they'd faced, he'd never once lost his head. In his deadly calm, he would have been able to strategize, come up with a plan better than the half-baked, desperate gamble Bilbo was attempting.

But he was on his own for now. And if he wanted to see his family and the man he loved again, he was going to have to fight his way out.

Bracing himself, Bilbo pushed open the door to the next level and stepped out.

The hallway was also carved from the rock. It curved slightly, winding out of sight in either direction. Bilbo's eyes fell on a perpendicular hall a little ways away. If what Smaug had said was true, then that mostly likely led to the front door.

Something moved in the corner of his vision, and he turned to see a muscular figure step into sight from around the curving wall. He froze as serpentine eyes locked onto him, then his gaze fell to the gun raised in his direction.

"Oh, _shit_." Bilbo wrenched open the door and ducked behind it just as a bullet embedded itself in the metal. Another shot shattered the small window above, and he winced as shards of glass rained down on him. He scrambled back and slammed the door shut. There was nothing to block it with—not that it would have really mattered anyway—and the next thing he knew, he was tearing down the stairs, back to the hallway he'd come from.

His limbs were burning with exertion and a stitch was growing in his side, but the pain of it only pushed him to go faster. The thought of faltering, of being caught, spurred him on in a whirl of terror.

He was a good distance down the hall before reason broke through the adrenaline spinning through his mind, and he slowed his pace. Smaug had driven him away from the door all too easily, and he was probably giving chase now. In that case, he wouldn't be able to stalk him with the security cameras. Every instinct was screaming at him to run, to find somewhere to hide, but he was going to have to stand his ground eventually.

As it stood, he had two options: try and find the door before Smaug found him, potentially putting his family at risk, or kill Smaug himself.

Bilbo adjusted his sweat-slick grip on his gun as he sped up his pace. For his family, he would have to try. He could do it to protect them.

He paused by a set of double doors and pushed them open. Just beyond was a cafeteria, a large room populated with rows of tables. Distantly, he wondered at how well-preserved the place was. It was rare to find somewhere one could pretend the apocalypse had never happened.

He hurried to the doors at the far end, glancing behind him every so often as if expecting Smaug to burst through. The adjacent room was an industrial kitchen, all stainless steel and white tile, and he took a moment to survey the area.

He didn't expect to beat Smaug in a shootout, as he had no intention of finding out how good of a shot the other man was. Underhanded as it was, the only way he had a chance was surprising him somehow, and taking him out before he knew what was happening.

Bilbo closed his eyes as something like guilt snaked its way to the back of his throat. He was doing this for his family, so none of them would get hurt. He'd volunteered himself for this task, and now he had to see it through.

He crouched behind a counter in the center of the room. If Smaug managed to follow him in here, hopefully he'd be able to surprise him.

Beneath his ragged panting, he could hear the low _swish_ of the doors opening in the cafeteria. Bilbo wiped his hands on his pants and readjusted his grip on his gun. He glanced at the safety to make sure it was off.

As he strained his ears, he could hear the low thudding of the other man's boots. He was walking at a leisurely pace, and the realization made dread prickle behind his ears. This was nothing more than a game to him, and Bilbo was beginning to fear he'd miscalculated something.

Then the door to the kitchen opened, and he held his breath to keep as quiet as possible.

The low _tap_ of the door swinging closed sounded, but there were no footsteps to accompany it. Bilbo raised his gun, checked the safety again, then prepared to spring up.

_Just do it. It's one shot_.

The air in his lungs was roaring for release, and he tried to let it out as quietly as possible. The quiet _clink_ of steel made him stiffen. He winced as it turned into a high-pitched screech, like a blade dragging across metal.

"Where are you?" Smaug was walking again. Hearing his voice in person, the sinister growl of it, was even more chilling. Bilbo shifted again. He was walking across the far wall, parallel to the counter where he was hiding.

Bilbo listened to his footsteps, which suddenly became a struggle given the ringing in his ears. Soon, Smaug's back would be to him, and he would take his shot.

"Well, then…" Something clicked, and Bilbo winced at the sudden, high-pitched burst of feedback from the walkie.

The shock was enough to force him into motion, and he leapt up and fired across the kitchen. The bullet struck Smaug in the shoulder, forcing him back with a cry of pain. Blood splashed across the sink, startlingly red compared to the sleek silver.

In the same motion, Smaug raised his own gun, and Bilbo hit the floor as three shots rattled across the metal shelf behind him.

Smaug's ragged breathing raked across the room as the last echoes of the gunshots fell silent. Bilbo pushed himself up into a crouch, trying to quell his shaking. He needed to make his next shot count.

Another gunshot cracked across the space, followed by the crackle of breaking plastic and a shower of sparks, and the room went dark.

Bilbo hissed out a curse. With fumbling fingers, he pulled the walkie from his belt and slid it across the floor, as far as he could.

"You're clever." Smaug's voice reverberated across the room. "I'll admit, this has been fun. But you _shouldn't have shot me_."

Bilbo was barely listening to the other man's threats. He crawled to the other end of the cabinet, trying desperately to remember the layout of the room. It sounded as if Smaug was standing by the door to the cafeteria, but a sliver of light near the floor had caught his attention. He would have to make a break for the other door and hope it didn't lead to a dead end.

He stood up, fingers closing around a rolling metal shelf used to store dishes. He pushed it sideways with all his strength, sending it and its contents to the floor with a thundering crash. Using the noise as a distraction, he sprinted towards the door and shoved it open.

The next room was dimly lit, only a few lamps in the ceiling illuminating the shelves, and Bilbo nearly froze at the sight of its contents. To his right, there were more shelves than he could count, all rising nearly fifteen feet to the ceiling, and all of them were filled with neat boxes of food. To his left was a door leading to a walk-in fridge, and he had no doubt that was also full of supplies.

None of that was going to be helpful at the moment, though. Bilbo ducked into the nearest aisle, thankful to find that it didn't lead to a dead end. He ran for the small space in between the shelves and the far wall, trying to put as much distance between himself and the door. Not a second later, the door burst open again. Smaug came charging through with a growl, and Bilbo pushed himself into a sprint.

Another gunshot cracked across the space, and Bilbo heard one of the boxes explode, followed by the trickle of some sort of grain hitting the floor. He stumbled to a halt and turned around, returning the fire, but none of his bullets found their mark—Smaug had ducked out of sight.

Bilbo pushed himself into a sprint again, fumbling to check his ammo. He cursed under his breath. He only had one round left, and he hadn't brought any extra with him.

Smaug fired again, and pain slashed across his back, from his spine to his shoulder. The force of the bullet threw him to the side, and Bilbo stumbled against the concrete wall with a gasp. His knees buckled. A hot trickle of blood ran down his shoulder blade. The bullet must have only grazed him, but the pain was enough to make his ears ring.

With a groan, he forced himself back to his feet. There was another door just ahead, and he pushed himself to reach it.

The room just beyond was small, and a sharp contrast to the plain room behind, the walls and ceiling paneled with dark wood. He'd ended up in the wine cellar. There was nowhere left to run.

With one bullet left and a throbbing shoulder, Bilbo turned to make his last stand.

He'd barely raised his gun before Smaug was pushing the door open. Bilbo aimed at his head, but Smaug was faster, seizing his hand and forcing the gun upwards. The bullet hit the ceiling, raining dust and splinters down on them both. Smaug forced his hands to the side as his other arm cocked back and struck Bilbo in the side of the head.

He was sure the blow had knocked him out for a second. When he came to, he was sprawled on his stomach, pain radiating from the side of his head like a small sun. He let out a strangled groan as Smaug's knee pressed down on his shoulder, turning the sting of the gunshot wound into an almost unbearable tearing sensation.

"Are you finished, yet?" The smugness in his voice sent an oily finger of fear trailing down his spine. "I'm all out of ammo, I'm afraid, so this isn't going to be quick."

Bilbo grit his teeth, trying in vain to push himself up, but Smaug only pressed down harder. His gun was lying on the floor, just out of reach. It was out of bullets, but if he could just find a way to grab it…

"No, I think I'm going to make you wait a while."

And before Bilbo could ask what he meant by that, Smaug raised the knife he'd taken from the kitchen and embedded it in the floor—right through Bilbo's hand.

He let out a scream, more from the shock of it than anything. A second later, the pain came, a horrible gnawing sensation that seared through his palm and left him gasping for air.

"Now…" Smaug rose into a crouch, but the release of pressure from his shoulder did nothing to lessen the pain. "I think I'll go see if your friends are still waiting by the door. And once I'm done killing them…" He leaned closer, his gaze boring into Bilbo, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the silvery blade of the knife. "I'll come back and finish you."

He stood up and walked out of the room, the wood creaking lowly under his footsteps.

Bilbo took in another gasping breath and tried to move his hand, but he stopped immediately as the pain flared up. He bit back a whimper and closed his eyes. The pain was almost overwhelming, each panicked twitch of his hand renewing it.

All he could do was lie there and watch the pool of his own blood slowly spread across the floor.

**My favorite kind of chaos in Hobbit fics is The Battle of the Five Armies But Smaug Is Also There. So next chapter we're gonna get into the thick of it. It'll be another longer one, and it's…a doozy. I also want to mention that I will be going overseas in a few weeks (to New Zealand yeeeee) so with the time difference it's going to be a little chaotic, but I will try my best to keep regular updates. Until next time!**


	37. Chapter 37

**So this is The Chapter. Warning for gun violence, knife violence, zombie violence, arson and related injuries...this is gonna be a rough one. I highly recommend listening to Time's End by Theophany, it's an apocalyptic and emotional song that goes really well with this chapter. I'll see you guys on the other side.**

**Chapter 37**

Thorin plunged his knife into his attacker's throat, feeling a hot splash of blood on the back of his hand. The man choked, arms twitching uselessly. Thorin spared another moment to stab him through the head, then dropped his body to the forest floor.

Azog's men were closing in, but he'd managed to pick off more than a dozen. Most of the men were untrained, nothing more than thugs wanting blood. His real focus was finding the bastard leading them.

Sheathing his knife, Thorin raised his rifle and made another short sprint down the mountainside. He was nearly back to their hiding place near the door, but he couldn't see anyone from his group. He hoped that meant they'd all made it to the cars, and that they'd be able to make it out before the walkers or Azog's men reached them.

They needed to get out of there while they still could. Thorin would have joined them, but…

He glanced at the hulking outline of the door in the fading light, and pain streaked across his chest. He couldn't leave without Bilbo.

Gunfire sounded from the lower slopes, and he cursed under his breath. Either the herd had reached the mountain, or his family was being attacked by the living—neither was ideal. And though it pained him immensely to do so, he turned away from the door and sprinted down the slope.

The forest was painted in shades of gray and dark blue. The sun had disappeared below the horizon, and every twitching shadow made him tense. Thorin rounded a sloping pile of boulders and froze.

The walkers had arrived in full force, standing thicker than the trees as they stumbled up the slope. As he looked around, he could see a dozen scattered about, moving faster than the rest of the horde.

Farther down the slope were the wavering, twisted remains of the chain link fence. The herd had bulldozed over it like it was paper. Between their shifting bodies, there was no sight of the cars, or his family. He'd veered away from the road a while back, and had lost track of that, too.

Biting back a curse, Thorin darted forward to drive his knife into the nearest walker's skull. There were too many of them. Between the dead and the remainder of Azog's men, the fact that he had no idea where any of his family was or if they were dead or alive… The grating edge of panic was beginning to bite into his consciousness.

Thorin took in a slow, unsteady breath and took down another walker. They were all survivors. He would have to trust in that until he found them.

Movement in the corner of his vision made him turn. Thorin wasn't sure if it was some deep-rooted instinct or the fact that he'd been fixated on Erebor for so long, but he managed to catch the exact moment that the door swung open. Hope spilled like light through his chest. He was far enough down the slope that the door was only barely in his line of sight, so he raised his rifle and looked through the scope to get a better look.

The man stepping through the door was not Bilbo. He was tall and muscular, and he had a pair of silver canisters strapped to his back, connected with a tube to a rifle-shaped tool in his hand.

Smaug.

Thorin lowered his rifle, ears ringing. If Smaug was the one stepping through the door, wearing that cold, triumphant smirk, armed and unhurt, then that meant Bilbo…

A walker lunged at him from the side. Thorin caught it at the last second, shoving it against the tree and crushing its skull with the butt of his rifle. Before the cold body had even hit the ground, he was running. The forest and the walkers around him blurred to nothing, no more than walls in the tunnel of space between him and Smaug.

He was going to kill him. With every breath he took, the vengeance that seared the insides of his lungs, he knew that he wasn't going to stop until Smaug was dead.

Unbidden, Bilbo's smile flashed in his mind's eye. For a brief moment, he could see it so clearly—Bilbo brushing a spot of dirt from his nose as he knelt in his garden, Bilbo rolling his eyes as one of Kíli's pranks, Bilbo leaning up to kiss him with that affectionate gleam in his eye.

_I want this for you. Because I love you._

Tears welled up unexpectedly, and Thorin swiped them away with his free hand. He wouldn't allow himself to grieve—he didn't _deserve_ to grieve—until all of this was over.

A walker stumbled forth from behind a tree, and Thorin rammed into it with his shoulder, forcing it back. But its fingers clamped around the strap of his rifle, making him stumble forward. With a growl of frustration, he jabbed his knife in between its eyes and yanked hard against its death-hardened grip.

By the time he managed to disentangle himself, a crowd of walkers had surrounded him.

There was no fear in him. Anything other than rage felt incredibly distant at the moment. Thorin gripped his knife, his handgun in his other hand, and let blood fly.

* * *

"Wait!" Fíli dug his heels into the dirt, and Víli's grip on his arm finally faltered.

His father turned back to him with a wide-eyed, exasperated expression. "Fíli, we have to go."

The gunshots behind them had grown more distant as they'd run, but the guilt and anxiety in Fíli's chest had only increased, until it felt like an animal trying to claw its way out through his ribcage. "We can't just leave them there," he said in between pants. "Thorin and Bilbo need our help."

"Thorin is one of the toughest men I know," Víli said. "And he's gonna find a way to get Bilbo out of there. My job is to keep you safe." He stepped forward, gripping both of his shoulders, eyes shining with a fierce light. "I'm not gonna let you get hurt again."

The pain in his voice was enough to deflate some of Fíli's resistance. He couldn't deny the fear racing through his veins, how it had nearly overwhelmed him as soon as he'd realized what was happening. The same men who had marked him with bruises and blood _twice_ were flooding into the woods, and the thought had pushed him to the edge of an all-consuming panic.

_I have to be brave_. Fíli gripped his gun. The words were feeling more flimsy each time he repeated them to himself, and he felt a sudden spurt of shame. For all his brave words back at the motel, he couldn't keep it together when it actually counted.

"Let's regroup with the others," Víli said, bringing him back to the present. "There's strength in numbers. We'll find them, and then we'll come back for Thorin and Bilbo. We're not going to leave them behind."

"Okay," Fíli said, feeling slightly numb, and they broke into a run again.

The woods were growing dark now, and more than once they stumbled against a hidden branch or a dip in the ground covered by leaves. Víli's grip on his hand was slick with sweat but strong, and Fíli was grateful for it. At the moment, it felt like his dad was the only thing tethering him to reality.

When a figure appeared through a gap in the trees, Víli stopped and pulled him down so quickly he felt his arm jerk painfully in his socket.

"Sorry," Víli muttered, but both of them were more focused on the person moving downhill. After a moment of squinting, they realized it wasn't one of Azog's men, nor was it one of theirs. It was a walker, and as they watched, more stumbled into view.

In the fading light, Fíli's eyes found the barest glint of auburn, and he watched as Nori raised his gun to shoot at something out of sight, then grudgingly lean on Ori for support.

"It's Nori and Ori," he said, turning to his father.

"The walkers must have cut them off before they could reach the cars," Víli said, then grimaced. "God _dammit_."

"We have to tell them about Azog," Fíli said. He searched Víli's face, half-hoping for the rest of their plan. He wished Thorin was still with them—he had always been the tactician.

Víli only nodded grimly. "Let's go."

They started off down the slope. As they came up on a trio of walkers, Fíli raised his gun and shot one in the jaw, while Víli finished off the other two. The gunshots would attract more, but he didn't think there was any hope of sneaking past them.

They started running towards where they'd last seen Nori and Ori. Before he'd gone more than a couple feet, Fíli felt cold fingers wrap around his ankle. He cried out as he lost his balance, hitting the ground with enough force to send pain jarring up his elbow.

"Fíli!" Víli started back towards him, but he paused as another pair of walkers cut him off.

Fíli glanced over his shoulder. The walker he'd shot before was missing half its jaw, blood oozing in thick clots from its neck, but apparently he'd missed the brain. He sat up, fumbling for his knife, and sunk the blade into the walker's skull before it could bite his ankle.

Breathing hard, he pushed himself to his feet and turned around. "Dad?"

There were more walkers than before, nearly a dozen of them, and more filling the clearing. Desperately, he scanned the mass of gray skin and dead, roaming eyes, but he could see no sign of Víli.

"Dad!" he called again, and stepped back as the walkers turned on him. There were too many to take on by himself.

Panic lodged itself in his chest, each breath whistling past it as he turned to run. He needed to find a way to circle around the group of walkers, make it back down the slope to his family.

Víli was probably waiting with them. He was probably worried about Fíli.

He ducked under a low-hanging branch and made for a ridge cluttered with pale stones. Hopefully this would take him to higher ground, where he could get a better sense of his surroundings.

And hopefully none of their attackers would catch him. Fíli shivered as fear bristled on the back of his neck. Between the shots from near the vent and the ones his family was firing down below, the noise had become little more than chaos, and it was hard to discern anything from that alone.

He pushed himself up, using a fragment of a root for balance, and too late felt the stone beneath his feet shift and come loose from the soil.

"Shit!" He flailed for a handhold, but there was nothing to hold onto. He tumbled down the side of the ridge, wincing as his arms scraped against the rock.

The impact against the ground was enough to knock the air from his lungs, then throw him onto his stomach. Fíli gasped for air, then stiffened as the smell of rot overpowered his senses. A growling weight pressed against the center of his back, while another pair of cold hands grasped as his legs.

"_No_," he choked out, scrambling to turn himself over. Both hands shot up to grasp the first walker's neck to push it away. He kicked out desperately, and the edge of his sneaker caught the second walker and forced it back. A sharp pain dug into the back of his arm, but he ignored it for the moment. Wincing as his fingers dug into the greasy, cold flesh of the walker, he fumbled for his knife and jabbed it into its eye. Shoving it to the side, he picked up his gun and shot the other walker before it could lunge at him again.

He swung his weapon to the side, eyes scanning the trees for other enemies, but for the moment he was safe. As his thundering adrenaline began to quiet, he realized blood was running down his arm, dripping off his elbow into the dead leaves. He was bleeding. The walker had—

Horror stole his breath a second time. Fíli let out a choked noise, staring at the dark droplets collecting on the ground. He reached over to feel the wound, then pulled back. He didn't want to feel it. He didn't want to know—

The memory of the RV flashed into his consciousness. He could see with nauseating detail the blood dripping from Ori's hand, how pale and shaken he'd been after…after…

They were going to have to cut into _him_ like that, assuming it wasn't already too late.

He could breathe now, but the air was only coming in short gasps, thin and insubstantial, and dizziness swirled in between his temples.

Another walker lurched from the darkness, but before Fíli could react, a bullet tore through its brain from the side. A second later, Sigrid appeared, her gun raised and ready. When she caught sight of Fíli, her brow furrowed in concern.

"Hey. You okay?"

It still felt like he couldn't get any air. It was all he could do to say, numbly, "I-I think I'm—I'm bit."

Sigrid's eyes widened. She glanced over her shoulder. "Dad?"

A second later, Bard came into sight, followed by Bain and Tilda. He took in Sigrid's wide-eyed expression, then turned to Fíli. He knelt down next to him and lifted his arm slightly to check the wound. "Just a piece of wood. You must have fallen on it, fighting off those roamers."

"What?" Fíli asked, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears.

Bard motioned to Sigrid, who pulled out a roll of bandages. He took it, then squeezed Fíli's shoulder. "You're not bit, son." His face was set in a grim mask, but there was a spark of reassurance there, too.

As carefully as he could, Bard pulled out the piece of wood, though Fíli still winced. Then he wrapped his upper arm, his movements swift and sure. As he worked, Fíli felt his racing heart begin to calm a little.

Bard sat back on his heels once he was done. "That'll have to do for now."

"I need to find my dad," Fíli said, reaching up to rub at the bandage. "We got separated, but—"

Bain tensed as something flashed in the woods below. "Dad, what the hell is that?"

Bard stood up to join Bain and Tilda, who were standing guard. Something about seeing the younger girl holding a gun, standing in the middle of all this death and chaos, made Fíli's stomach churn. He looked up as Sigrid offered a hand to him, and let her pull him to his feet.

He stiffened as the forest brightened. Stepping forward, he could see a bright orange cloud roar to life, painting the trees with flames. A man with a flamethrower was standing at the edge of it, standing calmly as if he were only watering flowers. A few walkers were caught in the blast, and they continued to stagger forth as if they hadn't even noticed, fire climbing their bodies. The light began to draw more of the dead, who stumbled towards the burning brush like rotting moths.

"Holy shit," Fíli whispered. Thorin's notes had described the man in the Erebor to be a pyromaniac, an arsonist. That had to be Smaug.

But if Smaug was out here, than that meant Bilbo…

He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, eyes filling with tears. He was too late. If he'd managed to reach the vent a few minutes earlier…

Bard swore under his breath. "That maniac is going to light the whole mountain on fire."

Fíli took in a shaky breath. His family was down there. "I-I have to find my dad."

Bard shook his head with a stern glance. "There's too many roamers, not to mention the fire. You'd never make it."

"But—"

Sigrid put a hand on his arm. "My dad's gonna take him out. We can find your family after."

"I'll need you all to cover me while I line up my shot." Bard glanced to the side as Tilda shot an approaching walker. He turned back to Fíli. "Can I count on you?"

Though it pained him to do so, Fíli nodded. None of them would be safe if the forest was on fire, and stopping that from happening would be a hell of a lot easier than taking out the herd or Azog's men. Already, smoke was beginning to filter through the air, making him cough.

"Let's go." Bard drew his gun and began moving. Bain and Tilda flanked him, while Sigrid took up the rear, and Fíli hurried to follow. The four of them moved in perfect synchronization, covering each other and taking out each walker that stepped too close.

They sprinted up the slopes, close to the ridge where Fíli had fallen. He found himself scanning the woods not only for walkers, but Víli, like he was going to step out from behind a tree any moment and sweep him into a hug. He would have given anything to see _anyone_ from his family.

Bard motioned for them to halt on a relatively flat piece of ground. He unslung the sniper rifle from his shoulder, set it on the ground, then lay down on his stomach. Tilda, Bain, and Sigrid took up their positions around him, and Fíli awkwardly joined them.

"Hey," Bain said, and when Fíli looked at him, he continued, "We got split up from your people when the roamers showed up. But I'm sure they're still out there somewhere." He gave Fíli a small, reassuring smile.

"Yeah." He tried to return the gesture. At the very least, he was glad he wasn't alone anymore.

More walkers filtered through the trees, and each fell to one of their bullets. Fíli clenched his jaw and tried to keep his hand steady. Every walker he killed was one less that could put his family at risk. He had to hold onto that.

Bard was taking deep, controlled breaths, lying almost perfectly still as he took aim. Below, the fire was spreading, and Fíli could feel the heat lick at his skin. A haze of smoke was pouring into the sky, obscuring the stars and the autumn moon.

"Cover your ears," Bard said. The four of them complied, though Fíli still turned to look as Bard pulled the trigger.

His palms weren't enough to completely drown out the gunshot, but what came next nearly knocked him off his feet. Below, the clearing ignited, a white-hot blast tinged with orange flashing through the trees. A wave of force made him stagger, and he turned to see Bain bracing Tilda with his body.

As the explosion died down, smaller flames flickered in the radius, releasing a plume of gray-black smoke into the upper boughs. A few charred remains of walkers caught in the blast were scattered among the blackened undergrowth.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Bard stood up and slung the rifle over his shoulder.

"Dad…" Sigrid lowered her hands from her ears, looking slightly breathless. "That was really fucking cool."

Bard gave her a tired but affectionate smile and turned to Fíli. "Let's go find your family."

* * *

An explosion thundered through the forest, and Thorin instinctively ducked behind a tree. He was exhausted, more of him covered in blood and grime than not, but adrenaline was still thrumming beneath his skin.

After dispatching the group of walkers that had ambushed him earlier, he'd been hacking his way through more of the dead, trying to cut a path towards the trail of fiery destruction Smaug was leaving behind him. He'd had every intention of giving the man the most painful death possible, but it seemed someone had beat him to it.

Staring at the blackened epicenter of the explosion, Thorin leaned against the tree and took a moment to catch his breath. He'd lost his chance at revenge, but he still needed to find Bilbo—even if it was only his body left. His throat tightened at the thought, and he pushed himself into a run again.

The smoke was growing thick in the forest, making it hard to breathe, but Thorin kept his gaze fixed on the door. It was still partially open, and all he had to do was make it inside—

Something collided with him from the side with enough force to send him skidding across the dirt. Thorin winced as loose rocks and wood scraped against his arm, but the expression turned into a snarl as he took in Azog's glinting eyes above him.

He raised his rifle, but Azog was faster. He wrenched the gun from his grasp, pinning him down with his weight, and threw it to the side. His right fist came down and cracked across Thorin's jaw, hard enough to send stars wheeling through his vision. Pain throbbed on the left side of his face, but Thorin ignored it in favor of blocking another punch. He wrapped his arm around Azog's, hooked a leg over his ankle, and rolled over, so their positions were reversed.

Thorin snatched the knife from his belt and brought it down with every intention of driving it right through Azog's heart, but Azog managed to divert the blow at the last second. The tip of the blade dragged across his chest, leaving a streak of blood that immediately began leaking through the fabric of his torn shirt. The sight of it, the red line in the smoke-darkened forest, put a spark to the viscous anger Thorin had been harboring ever since they'd lost the warehouse.

With a roar, he slammed his fist against Azog's face, and the pain that seared his knuckles was lost in the fiery anger consuming him. He drew back for another strike, but Azog's hand had darted towards Thorin's belt—towards his handgun.

He had to use both hands to divert the shot, which flashed inches from his side. But the movement was enough to send him off balance, and Azog punched him hard in the chest with his free hand. Thorin toppled to the side as the breath was knocked out of him. Azog pushed himself up, rising like a lurking forest predator, and kicked at Thorin's wrist. The knife skidded into the undergrowth.

Fighting the pain radiating from his arm, Thorin rolled over and began to push himself up. Azog's foot came from the side, driving into his ribs, and Thorin fell with a choked grunt. Exhaustion was making his movements sluggish.

Azog kicked him again, in the stomach, in the chest, in the back, until the air had been driven from his lungs. "How many of my people have you killed?" He sounded breathless too, but in a twisted way, like he was a second away from laughing. "More than I have yours. And I'm still winning."

Breathing hard, Thorin tried to push himself up again, but Azog pressed the heel of his boot to his shoulder and gave a hard shove, sending him rolling to the ground.

"I think I'll take this place too, once I'm finished with you. Still haven't decided what I'm going to do with the rest of your people, but I think the kid—"

Somehow, Thorin found his footing, and lunged upwards with a roar. Azog twisted, using his momentum to throw him against a tree. He stepped forward, pinning him there with one forearm against his neck.

He raised Thorin's gun and fired twice.

It felt like a blow to the stomach at first. Even as warm liquid began to trickle onto his skin, Thorin hadn't realized what had happened yet.

But there was still the anger.

He looked into Azog's eyes, seeing that same cold, vindictive victory that he'd worn dragging Fíli out of that car, shooting Dori in the head, spilling blood at the train station…and hatred seeped into his bones.

Thorin grasped the knife on Azog's belt, his skin molding against the unfamiliar, cold handle, and drove it into Azog's stomach.

Azog hissed through his teeth, shock eclipsing satisfaction, and his lips contorted into a choked scream as Thorin dragged the knife upwards as far as it would go, until it scraped against bone and Azog stumbled out of his reach.

He struggled for breath, hands grasping uselessly at the blood pouring from his abdomen, the glistening shapes of his intestines beneath. His wheezing lips stained with red, he collapsed.

As Thorin watched, his rage began to ebb. It felt as though the adrenaline was the only thing keeping him afloat, like he was chest deep in barely-contained panic. He turned to leave the clearing and make for the door to Erebor.

_Bilbo. I need to find him_.

He'd only made it a little ways before an all-consuming tearing sensation, like a bundle of lightning bolts, lanced through him. The pain was enough to make his ears ring. Blackened fingers crept to the edge of his vision.

When he came to, he was slumped against a tree, each breath renewing the agony that had settled like a ball of hot iron in his gut. Blood had soaked the bottom of his shirt, and was trickling past his belt. He could taste the metallic tang of it at the back of his throat.

Thorin reached behind him, fingers scraping against bark, and tried to stand. The boughs were filling with smoke, the red flicker of fire illuminating the sides of the trees. He needed to make it to his family.

He needed to know they were safe.

* * *

Bilbo took another shaky, calming breath and wrapped his hand around the handle of the knife.

He'd been trying for the past several minutes to pull it out, but even the slightest movement of the blade caused a sharp pain to shoot through his hand and up his arm. He was stuck at an awkward angle, too, having to keep his forearm flat against the floor to avoid jostling the knife too much.

Though he wasn't sure, it seemed his hand had stopped bleeding, and most of it had collected in a small puddle on the floor, sticking to his palm and the pads of his fingers. It would probably start up again once he finally managed to pull the knife out.

Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut and took several more deep breaths as nausea threatened to rise again. He pressed one hand over his mouth, fingers brushing against the dried tear tracks on his skin. He couldn't be sick. He couldn't spend any more time panicking when his family was out there, when they needed his help.

He sent another panicked glance at the door, half-expecting to see Smaug standing there. More than anything, he needed to get out of here before that psychopath returned. Though if he did come back, that would mean…

_No. They're going to be fine_. Bilbo grit his teeth and grasped the knife handle again. He pressed down as hard as he could with his injured hand and pulled. The blade didn't budge. With a groan of frustration, he tried wiggling the knife a little, and pain shot through his hand.

"Come on. Come on, you can do this." Bilbo reversed his grip on the knife so his thumb was closest to the floor. He imagined Thorin was there with him, an encouraging hand on his shoulder, and pulled with all his strength.

The knife finally came loose, sending a streak of blood to splatter across the floor. Bilbo cried out and tossed the knife away, then cradled his hand to his chest as blood began to leak down his wrist. The knife had hurt coming out just as much as it had going in.

He allowed himself ten seconds to catch his breath, then stood on shaky legs. He paused a moment to grab his gun, more for a sense of security than anything, then stumbled through the door.

Passing through the storeroom beyond seemed to take both an eternity and no time at all. Everything seemed a little too sharp, a little too bright. Bilbo pushed open the door to the kitchen and paused. Broken ceramic covered the floor, leaving a trail like ocean foam from the shelf he'd knocked over. Gingerly, he stepped over the mess and took a moment to search the cabinets. He found a white cloth, probably used for cleaning, and tied it around his hand the best he could.

His breaths were coming in short, uneven gasps, but he pressed on and shouldered his way through the doors to the cafeteria. He was free now, and he needed to get as far as he could.

It took about the same sort of short eternity to make it down the hall and up the stairs. Bilbo made his way towards the entrance, and paused as he smelled smoke.

The door—a thick, square slab of metal—was open, revealing the darkened forest beyond. Bilbo stepped onto the threshold and swayed on his feet.

The forest was on fire. It was only a relatively small section, but it was enough to send a thick haze of smoke spurting into the sky, while a thinner haze of it hung just above the trees. A few scattered gunshots peppered the crackling of the flames.

Gunshots. It wasn't a good sign by any means, but it meant that _someone_ was alive down there.

Bilbo raised his shirt to cover his mouth and nose, then descended into the forest. He first checked the place where they'd been hiding originally, but there was no one there.

He went on, searching the trees for any sign of life—or death. The distinct scent of rotting human flesh grew stronger as he walked, and he guessed the herd Dwalin had mentioned had finally arrived.

The realization struck him that he hadn't felt this alone since the beginning of the outbreak, when he'd been living by himself. And now, walking among the darkened trees with only fire to guide his path, he was beginning to feel like the last person on earth.

Bilbo stopped in the middle of a clearing, despair weighing on his shoulders. Everything that had happened since…since they'd left the farm was threatening to crash down on him. He was exhausted, alone, and his hand hurt like hell.

The fire was growing, snarling across the brush with a brightness that nearly hurt his eyes. He turned away, blinking against the stinging smoke, and his eyes fell on a body slumped against a tree a little ways away.

The breath left his lungs, the force of it nearly sending him to the ground.

"Thorin." The next thing he knew, he was running, his fatigue forgotten as he crashed to his knees next to him. "_Thorin_, oh—"

His stomach was soaked in blood. The parts of his face that weren't swollen with bruises were frighteningly pale, so much so that Bilbo would have thought he was dead if not for the labored, uneven breaths shaking his chest.

"Thorin." Bilbo put both hands on his face, careful of his bruises, and lifted it. "Talk to me, please. Say something."

His eyes were glazed with pain, but after a moment, they flickered with recognition. "Bilbo." Even through the weak murmur, the relief in his voice was palpable. "Y-You're alive."

"Yes. I'm fine." And he meant it, because it was really all relative at this point. "I'm okay. We need to get you…" He looked down at the wound, and his stomach turned as he realized the severity of it. "_Oh._ Oh, shit."

_There's too much blood. He's lost too much blood_. Bilbo pressed his hands against the wound anyway, and Thorin let out a pained grunt. The sound nearly made him flinch and pull away.

"I'm sorry," Thorin ground out, like every word he spoke took some astronomical effort.

"Shh, it's okay." Bilbo pressed down harder, and horror welled in his throat as blood continued to run along his palm.

"I…I shouldn't have led you all here. It…It was selfish. I never wanted to put you in danger like that."

"I know." An idea struck him, and he fumbled to undo Thorin's belt. He wrapped it around his stomach, right over the wound, and fastened it as tight as could.

Thorin let out another strained noise, this one weaker than the last, and pulled in a ragged breath. "Please, just—"

"Can we talk about this when you're not bleeding out?" Bilbo scanned the trees, as if Óin was going to magically step into sight. "We need to get you help."

"Bilbo." Thorin lifted a hand and placed it on Bilbo's shoulder, like that was the highest place he had the strength to reach. "Please don't let me turn."

"_No_." His voice finally cracked, and he held Thorin's hand in both of his. He pressed Thorin's fingers to his lips, uncaring of the blood on his skin, or the tears trailing down his own cheeks. "Don't say that. You're going to be alright."

Thorin leaned forward, and Bilbo rested their foreheads together, willing every ounce of strength he had left to be given to him. His next words were nearly inaudible.

"I love you."

Bilbo opened his mouth, but Thorin's eyes had slid closed.

"No, no, _no_, Thorin, stay with me." Bilbo grasped his shoulders, shaking them slightly, but there was no response. "Please, I _can't—_"

He sat back on his heels, the smoke-filled clearing whirling around him. A rattling sob choked him, driving the air from his lungs. When he breathed in, something more built in his chest.

Bilbo turned to the empty, flaming forest and screamed. "_Help!"_

The walkers would hear. Whoever had hurt Thorin would probably hear. But he didn't care, as long as there was a chance it would reach his people.

A wild desperation drove him to his feet, and he screamed for help again. His blood-slick hand fumbled for the knife at his belt, nearly forgotten in the chaos. He would cut down anyone, dead or alive, who tried to hurt them.

He nearly lunged forward when two figures appeared from the gloom, but he froze when he realized it was Dwalin and Bombur.

Bombur's eyes widened when he caught sight of him. "Bilbo! What the hell happened in there?" His eyes fell to the bloodied cloth wrapped around his hand.

"I—" Bilbo blinked. His run-in with Smaug and the hole in his palm suddenly seemed very distant compared to Thorin's peril. "I-It doesn't matter. Thorin needs help. He's injured."

The two of them finally ascended the slope and laid eyes on Thorin. Dwalin swore violently and knelt down next to him, checking his pulse.

"We need a doctor," Bilbo said, nearly tripping over his words. "We need to find Óin. Where is he?"

"We need to get him to an infirmary," Dwalin said. "We'll take him into Erebor. Bombur, get his legs."

Bilbo's fingers twitched, desperate to do _something_ as Dwalin hooked his hands under Thorin's arms. Seeing him so pale and lifeless, blood glistening on his hands and stomach, made a cold sensation wash over him. "W-What about Smaug?"

"He's in about forty pieces right now. Just find Óin." Dwalin shot a searching glance at Bilbo, as if affirming that he was up for the task. "We'll be waiting inside."

He watched for a moment as they began carrying Thorin's body up the slope, then turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, towards the fire.

"Óin!" he shouted, pushing himself to go faster even as the smoke began to sear his lungs. Despair began to trickle in again. How was he supposed to find one man in a burning forest filled with walkers? What if, by the time they both made it back to Erebor, Thorin was already dead? What if _Óin_ was dead?

His footsteps faltered. Bilbo leaned his palms against his knees, wincing at the stab of pain in his left hand. He swallowed, though his throat felt suddenly dry.

He would have to try and make for the cars. Perhaps some of his family had taken shelter there. It was, at the very least, a starting point.

He began to run again. It was getting harder to see and breathe with the fire, and he tried his best to skirt around it.

"Bilbo!"

He turned to see Fíli sprinting towards him, eyes wide. Behind him were Bard and his children—but that was it, Bilbo noted with some disappointment.

He scrambled up the slope to meet them. Sweat was running down the back of his neck, despite the cool weather.

Fíli barreled straight into him, nearly knocking him over. "I-I thought you were dead."

"I'm alright." Bilbo held him tightly for a moment, then pulled back. "Have you seen Óin at all?"

"No." His face fell slightly. "I-I haven't seen anyone. Why? What happened to your hand?"

"Thorin is hurt." Just the trio of words made something shudder deep in his chest. "He needs a doctor."

"Well, let's go look for him." Fíli glanced at Bard, as if he was looking for permission or assurance.

"We'll go with them," Bain said. "You need to get Tilda inside. The smoke's getting bad out here."

Tilda was leaning against her sister with her scarf over her mouth, her features pinched with discomfort.

Bard looked between his two eldest children for a long moment, then glanced at Fíli and Bilbo. "Is it safe inside the mountain?"

"Safer than out here," Bilbo said, impatience thundering along with his pulse. He cast an anxious glance down the side of the mountain.

"Let's go," Fíli said.

"Be safe." Bard took Tilda's hand and started with her up the mountainside.

Bilbo made sure Fíli, Bain, and Sigrid were ready, then led the way down the mountainside. A different worry tumbled into his mind with each step. His thoughts were consumed by Thorin, but his concern for the others was beginning to trickle in. And then came the fear that he was leading these three children into an even more dangerous situation.

Sigrid swung her gun to the right, searching the trees. "I saw something."

They all turned to follow her gaze. Bilbo put a hand on his knife, fearing it was a walker (or worse, a group of them), but it was only Víli staggering through the trees.

"Dad!" Fíli called, running towards him.

Bilbo was right on his heels. "Víli, have you seen—"

Víli turned towards them with a snarl, and Bilbo reached out to pull Fíli to a stop. The rest of his sentence caught in his throat, thick and heavy with shock.

The skin between his neck and shoulder had been torn away, and a waterfall of blood soaked the front of his shirt. There was blood around his mouth, too, a dark, terrible red beneath his clouded irises.

"Dad," Fíli said again, his voice cracking.

Bilbo couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He could only stare as Víli stumbled towards them. There was no anger, no violence in his expression. There was none of his humor or steely, compassionate determination. The muscles in his face were slack, expressionless, because he was dead, Víli was _dead_, and he was—

"Dad, please," Fíli rasped. Víli was only a few feet away, now.

Numbly, Bilbo tried to pull Fíli back. They needed to get out of here. But his limbs wouldn't respond. It felt like he'd been buried alive.

Víli reached them and paused, just for a moment. Bilbo wondered distantly if there was still a part of him behind those blank eyes that knew them, that didn't want to kill them.

Or perhaps he was just deciding which one of them to eat first.

Fíli was crying in erratic, wheezing sobs, fumbling for the gun on his belt. He stared at Víli as he approached.

It was only when Víli laid his hands on Fíli's shoulders that Bilbo was able to move. He grabbed Víli's arm, nearly recoiling at the stiff chill of his skin, and tried to pull him away.

"I-I'm sorry," Fíli sobbed. And before either of them could do anything, he pressed the barrel of the gun beneath Víli's chin and pulled the trigger.

**Had a lot of commentary for this chapter, but I don't want to fucking type any of it. All I'll say is that I cried writing that last scene. I'm...sorry.**


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

Bilbo didn't let go of Fíli until they were in the infirmary.

Bofur met them in the hallway just inside Erebor's front door, covered in soot and walker blood but otherwise unharmed.

"Óin," Bilbo managed, nearly out of breath. His right arm was wrapped around Fíli's shoulder since he'd been unable to walk by himself, bent double with uncontrollable sobs. Bain and Sigrid had been covering them the whole way up to the door.

"He's with Thorin," Bofur said with a concerned glance towards Fíli. "This way."

The minutes after that were a whirl, stumbling through white hallways and down a couple flights of stairs until they made it to a room furnished with cots and medical equipment.

Everyone else was there, scattered out in the hallway or standing inside. But all of that was peripheral as Bilbo's vision narrowed on Thorin, lying in the closest cot. His bare chest was patch-worked with bruises and frightfully pale, a disturbing contrast to the blood smeared around the dark wounds in his stomach. Óin was standing over him, working with a couple of surgical tools.

"Are you alright?" Bofur stepped forward, putting his arms around Fíli. "What happened, out there?"

Bilbo looked around at the others as a ringing silence filled the room. The realization trickled through the group.

"Shit." Bifur put his head in his hands. Ori turned white and wrapped his arms around himself. Nori shook his head, looking like he wanted to hit something.

"I need everyone out of here. I'm trying to save a man's life," Óin said without looking up. His voice was hoarse, but his hands remained steady as they worked. "Bifur, you stay and help me."

Gradually, everyone filed out the door. Bofur guided Fíli away as sobs continued to rack his body. But Bilbo stayed rooted to the spot, his eyes locked on Thorin's pale face, the frighteningly slow rise and fall of his chest. The leftover heat of the fire was still branded on his skin, but he suddenly felt as if his lungs were full of ice water.

Óin shot him a resigned glance. "Go sit in that chair if you're going to stay. I can't have you in the way."

Bilbo stepped aside, but he didn't sit down. He had the feeling if he did anything other than stand, he would collapse in on himself.

After a few torturous minutes, he asked, "I-Is he… Are you going to be able to save him?"

For a moment, he wasn't sure if Óin was going to answer, but then he raised his head, looking exhausted. "I don't know. I'm not a surgeon, and I've never done something like this before." He lowered his voice. "But I am going to try."

Time seemed to pass like the tide, sometimes leaping forward by minutes, sometimes dragging at an excruciating pace. Bilbo could feel a slow prickling at the back of his skull, like a reminder that he was supposed to be exhausted, but he could barely feel it. It seemed like he could stand there for the rest of time, watching Thorin's face for any sign of life.

"His blood pressure is dropping," Óin said, pulling the stethoscope from his ears. "He's going to need a transfusion."

The words were enough to break Bilbo from his trance, and he stepped forward. "I can do it."

Óin sent a doubtful glance towards the makeshift bandage on his hand. Between his and Thorin's blood, it was stained almost entirely red. "I wouldn't recommend it. You're injured, and you look like you're about to keel over."

"I'm fine." Bilbo stepped forward, fumbling to roll up his sleeve. "I-I'm O negative. Universal donor."

"Of course you are," Bifur muttered.

"Please." Bilbo sent another worried glance in Thorin's direction. "He needs it quickly, and I'm right here."

With a sigh, Óin dragged over a chair and gestured for him to sit. He worked quickly to set up the apparatus, and Bilbo winced slightly at the prick of the needle in his arm. He watched the deep red crawl through the tube and swallowed, hard.

While his other arm was occupied, Óin unwound the towel around his injured hand and went to work cleaning and stitching the wound.

"How'd this happen?"

Bilbo supposed he should have prepared himself for the question, but it still nearly made him flinch. "It was Smaug," he said quietly, averting his eyes from the wound. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about any of it.

Apparently Óin sensed his unease enough to not press the issue. He wound a clean bandage over Bilbo's hand, then pulled the needle from his arm and taped a piece of gauze over the tiny hole. He was just finishing up when Bifur walked into the room. Bilbo looked up in surprise—he hadn't even noticed him leave.

"Found 'em," he said stiffly, and handed a pair of handcuffs to Óin.

Bilbo straightened as Óin began cuffing Thorin's wrists to the metal bars on either side of the bed. "W-What are you doing?"

"Just playing it safe. If Thorin wakes up and he's…not himself, it'll be safer for the rest of us if he's restrained."

"If he's…not himself?"

_Please don't let me turn_.

Bilbo sat back, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him. "No," he gasped. "No, h-he—"

Óin walked over and dropped a small metal key on the bedside table. Despite the impatient gesture, the only thing on his face was exhaustion. "If he makes it through the night, you feel free to take them off. It's only a precaution."

He felt sick. The weight of everything was bearing down on him, curling him up like a burnt leaf. It was all Bilbo could do to nod and try to remember how to breathe.

"I'm going to check up on the others." Óin grabbed a few supplies and headed for the door.

Bifur trailed after him. "We'll be nearby. Shout if you need anything," he said over his shoulder.

And then it was just him and Thorin.

Bilbo shifted his chair so he was facing the bed and reached out to take Thorin's hand. His skin was still crusted with dried blood, and he took in a shuddering breath at the sensation.

No. No, that wouldn't do.

He stood up, waited until the room stopped spinning, then made his way across the room to the sink. He found a disposable towel in one of the cabinets and wet it under the faucet. He squeezed out the excess and walked back to his chair. Carefully, intently, as if it were the only thing left to do on earth, he began cleaning away the blood from Thorin's hands and arms. He traded the red-stained cloth for a fresh one and set about wiping his face clean, careful not to press too hard on his bruises.

Bilbo sank back into his chair once he was finished. "It'll be nice to take a hot shower again, hm?" He took Thorin's hand again, fingers running over the clean, slightly damp skin. "And…And I saw the food stores, while I was…here. There's enough. More than enough. You have to wake up and see all of it, okay?"

But Balin would never see it. Víli would never. And Dís and Kíli…they didn't know. _God_, Víli was gone and they didn't even know. Bilbo took in a stuttering breath. It felt like something was closing around his throat.

"I don't know if it was worth it. I don't know if this place was worth any of the blood we spent. But you wanted this _so badly_, and I wanted it for you. A-And if you had just—" A sob broke the sentence in half, and Bilbo bowed his head.

He didn't know if he should be angry. He didn't know if he was blaming Thorin too much or too little. He just wanted him _back_, awake and alive. More than ever, he wished the parts of him, the parts of Thorin he'd fallen in love with, had made up the whole from the start.

And it was this—the aching, tearing sense of loss, the sensation of having something snatched away and slipping through his fingers, that finally made him lean forward, nearly double, and begin to cry.

He cried for Víli, for Fíli and Kíli and Dís, for Dwalin and Balin, for Thorin and himself, for all the suffering and tears they'd put into this, and all that was yet to come.

It was a long time before he was spent, breathing thickly with his forehead resting on the bed next to Thorin's shoulder, but even then there was no peace, no emptiness to quiet his thoughts.

Bilbo shut his eyes and let exhaustion take hold of him.

* * *

Fíli sucked in another tearstained breath, his hands fisted in his hair.

He couldn't stop seeing it, the way Víli had staggered towards him, the blankness of his eyes as he'd stared at him without recognition.

And when those cold hands had closed around his shoulders, it hadn't been with warm reassurance. There had only been a sickening hunger in that grip.

He let out another sob, lips moving soundlessly. His dad was _dead_. The truth flashed against his consciousness, as unbearably bright and ruthless as the room he was in.

He hadn't been able to stand the others seeing him like this. Bofur had held him long enough for him to come back to himself, and then he'd turned away and stumbled into the closest empty room. Now he was leaning against the laundry machine in the corner farthest from the door, half-oblivious to the gray layer of dust coating the floor.

He wanted his dad. He wanted him to walk in and tell him everything was okay.

Fíli dug his knuckles into his scalp as a fresh wave of tears leaked from his eyes. He didn't deserve any of that. He was weak and selfish and it was his fault Víli was dead.

He'd been so focused on proving himself, on trying to play soldier on this stupid mission, that he'd gotten his own dad killed. If he'd just turned back at the motel like Víli had wanted, he would still be okay. They would be back with…

Dís and Kíli. He flinched. He'd taken away their family, too. Kíli would have to grow up without a dad. And Dís would look at him and know it was his fault.

There was still a splatter of thick, dark blood on his knuckles from when he'd pulled the trigger. Fíli tried to wipe it off, but his fingers only dragged a glob of red across the back of his hand. That was blood that _he_ had spilled. He began rubbing it off on his pants, his breaths coming faster, until his skin felt raw.

The door to the laundry room opened. Fíli froze for a split second, then dragged both hands across his face, intent on shouting out whoever had decided to walk in. But when he looked up, the words wouldn't come.

Sigrid crossed the room and sat down next to him. Her face was smudged with soot, and a few strands of hair had come loose from her ponytail.

Fíli swallowed and glanced away. Suddenly, distantly, he felt _embarrassed_ to cry in front of her. The realization doused him with another wave of shame—it was such a stupid thing to be worried about.

But there was no disapproval or disgust on her face, only grief—a strange shadow of his own.

After a minute, she spoke. "I lost my mom the same way." She clasped her hands together, forearms resting against her bent knees. "About three years back. The roamer just…came out of nowhere. I-I had a gun with me, but I still couldn't do anything when it…when it bit her." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I couldn't do anything." She sucked in a sharp breath. "Dad had to shoot her."

Fíli looked up, and his throat tightened as he saw the tears running down her face, smearing the dirt on her cheeks. It was strange, looking through a window into her pain, so similar to his, and it brought a different ache to his chest.

When she looked up, her eyes were shining and full of grief, a mirror to his own. "So…So I know exactly what you're feeling."

He wasn't sure who moved first, but the next thing he knew they were leaning against each other, shoulders pressed together so they could feel the tremble of each other's sobs.

And Fíli allowed his tears to flow freely again.

* * *

Thorin found himself in an unfamiliar hospital bed. There was something eerily quiet and lonely about the room, like there was nothing beyond it.

He sat up and winced, looking down at the bandages covering his stomach, but the sensation only a dull ache, like a bad bruise.

There was a cell phone in his hand, and he realized it was already dialing a call. He lifted it to his ear.

After a moment, the person on the other end picked up. "_Hey_."

Thorin smiled. "Happy birthday."

_"__Thanks. You actually caught me at a pretty good time, for once. So, you gonna read off gift card numbers to me, or what?"_

"I have something better, actually. But it's going to have to wait until you get back."

_"__Sweet. Is it a pony?"_

He laughed. "Yeah, a little plastic one."

"_Well, I hope you got a sparkly comb for me to brush its tail_." A small commotion sounded on the other end. "_Shit. I gotta go. I'll see you in a couple weeks?_"

"Yeah, see you then." Thorin glanced to the side and frowned as a glimmer of reality flickered past, like the rustling of a curtain. He hadn't been in the hospital when they'd had this conversation. He'd been in his car after physical therapy. This was only a dream, he realized, but it still felt so achingly _real_.

"_Oh, and Thorin?_" His voice became softer, more serious. "_It wasn't your fault, what happened_."

He stilled as a familiar ache grew in his chest. "What?"

"_It wasn't your fault_," he repeated. "_And everyone knows it_."

He shook his head, tears pricking his eyes. "I-I should have been there."

"_You can't save everyone. Even if I did think you were a superhero_." He laughed softly. "_At some point you have to forgive yourself for that_."

Thorin closed his eyes, but not before a tear escaped. "Frerin…"

_"__I gotta go. I'll see you again, but…maybe not for a while."_

"Wait," Thorin said, but the dream was already fading, lifting away as he plunged back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Bilbo sat up with a wince. He'd fallen asleep in a horribly uncomfortable position, sitting in his chair with his arms and head resting on Thorin's bed, and now his neck and back ached. His sinuses felt thick and clogged, his cheeks stiff with dried tears. He sat back with a sigh, looking Thorin over with tired eyes.

He didn't look any better. He was still motionless and deathly pale. Bilbo glanced at the clock above the door, but it had run out of battery long ago. There was no sign of the others anywhere, not even the low murmurs of their voices.

At some point he would have to go look for Fíli. Bilbo swallowed thickly at the thought, the full memory of the previous night crashing down. His throat ached like he was about to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. His mouth was painfully dry, too.

With a groan, Bilbo started to push himself up. He found some plastic cups used to store pills, and took a few sips from the sink using one. Even the small amount of water was enough to prod his hunger awake, but he ignored it. The thought of going back to the food storage, of seeing his own blood on the floor, made him sick.

A low groan sounded from the other side of the room.

Bilbo dropped the cup in the sink and rushed to the bed. "Thorin?"

Thorin stirred, eyes moving beneath his lids, another groan sounding from the back of his throat.

"Thorin?" His hands hovered just above his arm. He knew he should reach out, check for a pulse, but terror kept him rooted to the spot.

His eyes opened, slowly, revealing clear blue irises. "Bilbo?"

Relief rushed through him like a flood of cold water. He leaned forward and cupped his face with both hands, unbelievably relieved to feel warmth beneath his fingers. "I'm here. I'm right here."

A sharp jangle of metal sounded just behind him. Thorin looked down at the handcuffs restricting his movements. "What..."

"That was Óin's idea," Bilbo said apologetically. "Just in case you…never mind that." He reached for the key.

"No," Thorin said, letting his hands fall back to the bed. "Keep them on. I don't..." He stopped and winced with a sharp breath.

"No," Bilbo repeated. His stomach dropped. He wanted the cuffs off, wanted Thorin awake and free from pain, wanted him _back_. "You're fine, alright? You've come through the worst of it. Do you need me to get Óin? I can…" His voice cracked. He fell back into the chair, a sudden exhaustion overwhelming him.

"Bilbo..."

Belatedly, he realized that tears were running down his cheeks again. "I-I thought I'd lost you."

Thorin closed his eyes. Bilbo could tell by his slow, controlled breathing that he was in pain and trying hard not to show it. "I'm sorry."

A watery laugh escaped him. "Well, it's not really your fault you got stabbed..."

"No, I am sorry. For all the worry I caused you and—" He took a sharp breath. "For putting all of you at risk like that. I-It wasn't..." He trailed off and exhaled unsteadily. "Bilbo, tell me no one else got hurt."

His hands clenched into fists, which he pressed against his thighs. The words wouldn't come at first—this was the last thing he wanted to say to Thorin, not when he'd just gotten him back. "Víli," he managed after a minute.

Thorin shut his eyes, a sharp line creasing his brow. He spent the next few moments breathing slowly, as though he was trying to control the pain or the tears or both. Once his struggle had eased, he asked, lowly, "How?"

"It was a walker," Bilbo said lowly. He thought suddenly how it would feel to deliver this news to Dís, and the next words were nearly impossible to say. "Fíli, um…h-he took care of him."

At this, Thorin let out a broken sob, and hissed through his teeth as the movement jostled his wound. Bilbo leapt up, unable to see him like this any longer, and undid the handcuffs before he could protest.

He leaned forward, grasping his shoulders, but what could he do? He didn't know how to comfort Thorin when his own pain was threatening to swallow him whole.

"I…I'm going to find Óin, see about getting you some painkillers. I'll be back as soon as I can." It was the only thing he could think of that he could even begin to fix.

"Alright." Thorin's voice was raspy, thick with suppressed tears, and Bilbo felt as if something in his chest was tearing in half as he turned to go.

**I just want to ramble for a second about that scene with Fíli. I was thinking a lot about this video by Philosophy Tube on mental health (it's really really good, I've watched it like four times) and this one quote from it, that "Toxic masculinity's a hell of a ship to pilot when you're suffering." Like Fíli definitely had a supportive family that didn't strictly enforce gender roles, but I feel like a lot of his pain comes from this pressure he has to be strong and stoic, the way he sees the people he looks up to (especially Thorin). Secondly, the part with Sigrid was inspired by the end of the video, the idea that one of the most powerful things you can say to someone is "I understand how you feel." I haven't talked about it much but the past year has been pretty difficult for me and the discussions in that video are just really important to me. Obviously I'm not going through the same stuff as Fíli and I can't exactly relate to the masculinity stuff but it's been a weird, sometimes cathartic experience to write from his point of view and explore his struggles with trying to be strong in a world that just keeps taking from you. Anyway, I'll stop rambling now, and I'll see you guys next week.**


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

Cautiously, Bilbo pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was plainly but tastefully furnished with a couple of sofas, a television, and a painting of a lake. Ori was standing in the corner with a rag in one hand, shoulders shaking with muffled sobs. When he heard Bilbo enter, he quickly wiped his tears away and went back to dusting off the TV stand.

"Um." Bilbo hovered in the doorway. "Did you want any help? Or…"

"Sure." Ori sniffled and wiped his face again. "I-I think the sheets in the bedroom need to be washed."

"Alright." Bilbo pushed open the door to the bedroom and began stripping the bed.

They'd finally started exploring the rest of Erebor. Ori and Bifur had found the apartments in one section, and had begun cleaning them out to make them a little more livable after years of disuse.

It was slow going, and most of their exploration lacked enthusiasm. For the first few nights, they'd all slept near the infirmary, camping on the floor in a mess of coats and scavenged sheets. The white, unchanging halls had all frozen them in a strange state of grief that was beginning to scare Bilbo. This wasn't the first time he'd caught Ori crying alone, but he'd gotten quicker at trying to hide it.

After the warehouse, after losing Dori, they'd been forced to battle the elements and the walkers, to push on and find shelter. But now…they were safe. They'd won, and that had left them with nothing to confront except everything they'd lost in the process.

Bilbo swallowed down the lump in his throat and continued to wrestle a pillowcase off of its pillow. When he felt eyes on him, he glanced over to see Ori standing in the doorway.

"Are you sure you're okay doing that?" he asked. "With your hand…"

Bilbo looked down. Óin had changed the bandage a few hours ago, and proclaimed it was healing nicely. But he still couldn't make a fist, and his middle finger was partially numb.

"I'll be fine," he said with a weak smile. He didn't see any point in complaining about it, especially not in front of Ori. "I don't mind helping out a little."

"Well…" Ori cast him a doubtful glance. "Don't push yourself, okay?"

Bilbo nodded, and Ori retreated into the other room.

In truth, he was still feeling a little dizzy. Thorin had needed another transfusion yesterday, and Bilbo had insisted on giving more blood. Afterwards, he'd tried to leave to get something to eat, and hadn't made it to the door before falling over. Thorin had nearly torn his stitches trying to see if he was alright, and Óin had promptly ordered them both to stay in bed unless told otherwise.

As much as he would have liked to lie down, it didn't feel right to be resting. He needed to keep himself busy, to try and quiet some of the worries swirling around his head.

A low knock sounded from the front door, and a moment later, Bombur walked in. White flakes of ash were stuck in his hair and on the shoulders of his coat.

He offered them a tired nod as Bilbo joined Ori in the living room. "They found it."

"Oh." A small shower of dust fell to the floor as Ori wrung the cloth in his hand.

"Fíli wants to do it now," Bombur continued. "So everyone's heading outside."

"I-Is it safe?" Bilbo asked, crossing his arms. As far as they could tell, the fire had attracted and burned most of the walkers, but it had also released a thick haze of smoke that made breathing nearly impossible. They'd all elected to stay inside until the fire burned itself out.

Bombur nodded. "The smoke's not too bad anymore."

"Okay." Ori released the cloth and set it on the armrest of one of the couches. "I guess we should go, then."

The three of them filed out of the room and down the hall. They met up with Nori and Bofur near the front door, and walked outside in silence.

The air was cold and threaded with the scent of smoke and rot. Thankfully, the stench was no longer as overpowering as it had been a few days ago.

The others were standing in a clearing nearby, gathered in a small semicircle. Thorin was there as well, leaning on a single crutch. Bilbo shot a questioning glance at Óin—surely Thorin was in no state to be walking around—but received only an exasperated shrug in response.

At one end of the clearing were two slabs of stone meant as crude grave markers. Only one grave had been dug, and next to it was Víli's body. He was wrapped in a sheet, but a small portion of dark blood had soaked through the fabric above his shoulder.

Bilbo closed his eyes as the memory overtook him. It was relentless, playing in his dreams and the quiet waking moments, yet the horror of seeing Víli's blank eyes was the same each time. He took in a shuddering breath and went to stand next to Fíli. He was standing with his hands tucked in his jacket pockets, eyes red-rimmed but dry. The exhaustion and pain Bilbo was feeling seemed like nothing more than a shadow next to what was on Fíli's face.

Bofur cleared his throat. "Well, now that we're all here…" He glanced at Fíli, sorrow dimming his normally cheerful face. "Did you want to say a few words?"

"Um…" Fíli's voice came out in a soft rasp. He blinked rapidly, like he hadn't even considered it before.

Bilbo reached over and squeezed his arm. "You don't have to right now," he said. "There's no rush."

"I just…" Fíli swallowed. His voice wavered at first, but became steadier as he continued. "He was a really good dad. H-He always cared, always wanted us to be happy, and I wish…" He lowered his head, the rest of his sentence breaking off into fragile silence.

Bilbo rubbed his back, tears pricking his eyes.

They stood quietly for a long moment, listening to the hollow wind in the bare trees. Once it became clear Fíli was not going to continue, Bofur nodded at Dwalin, who stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the second grave marker.

"We all know…who he was. He was my brother, but he helped raise me, made me into the man I am today." Dwalin's voice was a low grumble, thick with suppressed tears. "He always had something to give. But he was also a tough son of a bitch." He cleared his throat, like he was bracing himself to continue. "This world needs people like him."

Bilbo's chest shuddered with grief. Balin had been one of the first people to welcome him when he'd first arrived at the motel. They'd sat together on the roof of the warehouse discussing books, had sang and cooked together in Beorn's kitchen.

He could see it all, then, in a painful, watery flash—all the joyful moments and the darker days in between. He could see Víli lifting Kíli onto his shoulders in the middle of the orchard, laughing at one of his stories, kneeling with his arms around his family in the winter outside the warehouse.

It seemed at the moment that they'd left a trail of broken pieces, from his apartment, the motel, the warehouse, Beorn's house, the train station. And looking back on all that they'd lost, he didn't really know what was left.

Bifur and Bombur stepped forward to place the body in the grave, and spent the next few minutes filling the hole. Fíli watched them silently, shoulders twitching with quiet sobs.

And he stayed there, even as the rest of them began to trickle back inside. Bofur lingered at the edge of the clearing and gave a small nod, as if to say, _I'll keep an eye on him_.

Bilbo finally tore himself away. White sparks of exhaustion were beginning to dance at the edge of his vision, and he knew he would have to find somewhere to lie down before he fell again.

He found just enough steadiness to hurry up the slope to where Thorin was making his way back to the door, leaning heavily on his crutch. Óin kept pace with him nearby, looking grim and exhausted. Bilbo didn't think he'd seen him sleep once since they'd made it inside Erebor.

He slipped an arm around Thorin, offering himself as a means of support. Thorin's arm landed on his shoulders, but it took him a minute to actually put any of his weight on it. His face was nearly white with pain, his brow furrowed, but his gaze was distant. He'd hardly said a word since waking up in the infirmary. Bilbo had sat with him several times, to give blood and company, but they hadn't spoken at all about what had happened. Part of him still felt that this was a nightmare he had yet to wake from.

But this moment was painfully real, both the cold and the grief, and all he could do was hold onto Thorin as they walked inside.

* * *

Fíli looked up as someone knocked on his door.

He still wasn't really used to having a space for himself. The last time had been his bedroom in his old house, miles away and what seemed like a lifetime ago. After the outbreak, he'd spent most nights camped out with the others. Even when they'd lived at the warehouse and the farm, he hadn't really had a room to call his own.

The quiet, empty space of the apartment was a welcome retreat sometimes, when the pain in his chest started to drown him. Other times, the silence was deafening, and he would creep out to find someone else—not to talk, but just to be in the same space.

At the moment, he was just sitting on the couch and staring into space. He felt strangely heavy as he pushed himself up and went to open the door.

Bain and Sigrid were standing on the other side, and he blinked in surprise. Besides Sigrid visiting him in the laundry room, Bard and his family had kept mostly to themselves over the past few days. There had been no discussion of whether or not they were going to stay, but Fíli found himself half-wishing they would. Having them here made Erebor feel less claustrophobic, somehow.

"Hey." Bain gave him a small smile. "We found the game room, and we were going to go check it out. Did you want to come with us?"

"Um." Fíli was momentarily caught of guard by his casual tone. The rest of his family had been walking on eggshells around him—Bilbo would always take a moment to rub his shoulder, Bofur went out of his way to try and make him laugh, Óin made sure he got extra helpings at mealtime. He appreciated their concern, but seeing it only reminded him of _why_ everyone was treating him this way.

Sigrid and Bain didn't look at him the way the others did. There was no sympathy or pity in their eyes. Bain had his hands tucked in his pockets like they were normal teenagers, like they did this every Saturday. And in Sigrid's eyes there was only understanding, a clarity that felt almost foreign to him.

"Yeah, sure," Fíli said, hoping he hadn't taken too long to respond.

If he had, neither of them showed it. They began walking down the hallway, and Fíli followed just behind.

They reached the game room after a few minutes. There weren't any windows in Erebor, but someone had painted a mural—grassy fields and a blue sky—on one wall. To one side were a couple of TVs with game systems next to an arcade game with a blank screen. On the other side were a pool table and a ping pong table, along with a couple of stools.

The memory came back to him like a lightning strike. The game room back in Rivendell had been smaller, but something about the blank screens, the false grass-green of the pool table, brought him back to that night. He'd been upset with Kíli, for some reason he couldn't remember anymore. But he could still hear the way Kíli had cried into Bilbo's shoulder, how he'd been afraid to go back on the road. He'd been feeling the same way—exhausted, scared, longing for a safe place where he could go back to being a _kid_.

Now, he knew better. He wasn't a kid anymore, and there was no point in pretending.

Sigrid and Bain had moved over by the pool table while he'd been lost in thought, either unwilling to wait for him or realizing that he needed space. He shook himself and went to join them.

"I have no idea," Bain was saying, inspecting the triangle used to hold the pool balls. "Aren't there a lot of rules to this game?"

Sigrid was holding the stick with both hands, casually, but Fíli didn't miss the way she gripped it, how it could become a weapon at a moment's notice. "You hit the balls into the holes, right? How hard can it be?" When Bain snickered, she rolled her eyes and glanced at Fíli. "Do you know how to play?"

"Uh, I don't know the official rules." He thought back to Bofur's pool table, which had doubled as a dining table in their cramped apartment. "My brother and I used to play Crush with it."

"What's Crush?" Bain started digging around in the pockets, setting the balls on the table.

"Uh, you stand on either end of the table and try to roll the balls really fast so it hits the other person's fingers."

Sigrid cracked a smile at that. "Yeah, let's not do that."

When Dís had found them playing it, she'd immediately berated both of them, distracting Fíli and giving Kíli the opportunity to ram the eight ball directly into his index finger. Afterwards, Víli had brought him an icepack for his throbbing finger and snuck him pieces of candy until he'd cheered up.

Fíli felt a familiar lump appear in the back of his throat, and he dug his nails into his palm to try and distract himself from the tears threatening to rise.

"Ooh." Bain pulled a deck of cards held together by a rubber band from one of the pockets. "We could play Crazy Eights."

Sigrid glanced at Fíli, eyebrows slightly raised as if to ask, _You good?_

He cleared his throat and nodded. He was so _sick_ of fighting back tears. "I'm kinda rusty on the rules, though."

"It's really easy. So…" Bain leaned forward and started dealing the cards as he explained.

They played a few rounds, leaning their elbows on the pool table and idly pushing the balls around. At some point, Sigrid left to get some snacks. The chips were slightly stale and the soda was flat, but they still brought a strange, shaky sense of normalcy that Fíli hadn't felt in a long time. Tilda found them after a couple hours, and Bain dealt her a hand and lifted her onto the table so she would be able to reach the cards. Eventually, Fíli found it easy to lose himself in the afternoon. He enjoyed listening to Bain and Sigrid tease each other, and Tilda's youthful competitiveness made him ache for his own brother.

_What the hell are you doing?_

He wasn't sure whose voice it was that rung through the back of his mind, but it was enough to nearly make him flinch. The memory of where he was, of everything that had happened, doused him like a bucket of cold water.

Fíli dropped his cards to the table, struggling to breathe against the sudden vice closing around his chest.

He didn't deserve to forget, not even for a moment.

"I'm kind of tired," he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. He kept his eyes on the stack of cards in the middle of the table. "I'm gonna get some rest."

"Okay," Sigrid said, and he could tell that all three of them were watching him. "See you later."

"Yeah," Fíli rasped, and turned to flee the room.

* * *

Thorin was getting tired of the infirmary.

After the funeral, Óin had put him on near-permanent bed rest, and had threatened to cuff him to the bed again if he tried to leave. The short walk outside had taken every ounce of energy he had, and then some, and Thorin hadn't been inclined to argue at the moment.

But he was getting tired of the fluorescent lights, the featureless white walls, and the low humming silence that seemed omnipresent in every corner of his mind. It had only given him time to reflect on every mistake he'd made, and how blind he'd been since the day he'd received the packet of notes.

Óin had kept him on a strict schedule for his painkillers, but Thorin had begun to refuse them. The pain from his gunshot wound, which kept him awake most of the time, seemed like some sort of atonement, after everything. He'd pushed his family out of their home, had gotten two of them _killed_, had used their love and loyalty against them, all to try and relieve his paranoia.

It was the least he deserved, to endure the silence.

He raised his head as Dwalin walked into the room, carrying a tray of food. He set it on the table by the bed—soup and crackers. Bilbo was usually the one to bring him meals, though they rarely spoke during these visits. Thorin was never sure what to say, if there was anything he _could_ say, and Bilbo seemed to sense this. His presence was enough of a comfort, even if Thorin wasn't sure he deserved it.

"Thanks." Suppressing a wince, Thorin readjusted his bed so he could sit up. The pain from his wound had lessened somewhat, and Óin had said it was healing—slowly, haltingly, but healing nonetheless.

Dwalin grunted in response. Thorin fully expected him to leave the room, but he only leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

A moment of silence ticked by. "Well?"

Thorin glanced at him, brow furrowed. "What?"

Dwalin made an impatient gesture with one hand, as if to say, _You first_.

He looked down at his hands. They'd never really had the need before to speak about things like this. There had always been a silent understanding between them, but something had fractured after the motel. Something that day had disconnected him from the others.

"I was wrong," he said after a long moment. "I shouldn't have forced you to choose, back at the motel. I shouldn't have pushed you all…"

If Dwalin noticed the slight waver in his voice, he didn't show it. "Well, I was being kind of a dick, too. Said some things I shouldn't have."

Thorin shook his head. "You were grieving. I…I should have respected that."

Dwalin only grunted in response. After another stretch of silence, he said, "We're going to have to tell the group at the farm what happened. Fíli's probably going to want to go."

The mention of the farm, of his sister and nephew that had been left behind, hit him like a blow to the chest. He had no idea how he was going to face Dís, after she had been so opposed to any of them leaving in the first place.

"How…How is everyone else?" He hadn't seen much of the rest of the group, besides Bilbo and Óin. He'd received assurances that they were all uninjured except for a few scrapes and minor burns, but the images of their deaths, of walkers and rifle-wielding men descending on them, still haunted his dreams.

"They're keeping busy. Probably wouldn't mind hearing from you." Dwalin finally stood up straight, moving so he could look Thorin in the eye. "Prove it. Whatever you're feeling now, you have to prove it."

He left the room without another word, and Thorin closed his eyes with a sigh. Exhaustion weighed on him, seeped into his bones like cold water.

Eventually, he would have to speak to the others. But no apology would heal what he had done.

There was nothing he could do to bring back all that they had lost.

* * *

"You have everything you need?"

Fíli looked up from his backpack. Bilbo was standing in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame.

"Yeah." He zipped up his pack but didn't put it on yet, just letting it rest on the couch. "Are you coming with us?"

Bilbo stepped into the apartment and shook his head. "I'm going to stay here, keep an eye on Thorin. But you'll be in good hands."

They'd finally made the decision to return to the farm, to tell the others what had happened, and Bifur and Bofur had volunteered to go with him. The thought of seeing his family again, of having to tell them what had happened, made dread rise in his lungs like water.

"You be safe out there, alright?" Bilbo crossed the room, taking his face in both hands, and smiled. "Take care of yourself."

"I will," Fíli murmured. A part of him was scared to return to the world outside the mountain. As far as they knew, most of Azog's men were dead, swallowed up by the flames or the walkers. But he knew better than to think that group had been the only bad men out there.

"Oh, here." Bilbo pulled out a packet of cookies from one pocket and handed it to him with a smile. "This is our secret. Because Bifur _will _steal them if he finds out about them."

Fíli snorted out a soft laugh, which disappeared after a second. It still felt wrong to even smile.

"Come here." Bilbo pulled him into an embrace. "You're going to be okay."

Half a sob built in his throat, and he held Bilbo tighter. When Bilbo said those words, he could almost believe them.

"Now," Bilbo pulled back after a moment, his eyes looking a little misty, "I think Bifur and Bofur are waiting for you."

"Yeah, I should probably go." Fíli stepped back and went to sling his pack over his shoulders. He made for the door, then paused. "I…I don't know how I'm going to tell them."

"Fíli." Bilbo went to stand next to him. "They're going to be happy to see that you're alright. And the rest…it's not going to be easy. But we're all here for you."

He nodded wearily. Whatever was going to happen, he just wanted the dread to end. He just wanted it over with.

"I…I'll see you in a couple of weeks, maybe," he said.

Bilbo smiled and walked with him through the door, but the word hung in the air like a silent omen: _maybe_.

* * *

By the time they reached the farm, Fíli thought his anxiety was going to burst out of his chest. It was a swarm of cold needles whirling in his chest like bees, and he might have emptied his stomach if there had been anything in it.

He hadn't eaten much the past few days, though Bifur and Bofur had kept an eye on him. They'd retraced their route from the farm to the mountain, and besides a handful of walkers, the journey had been pretty uneventful.

And now it seemed like it hadn't taken any time at all. Fíli could only stare at the gate, the familiar worn wood, and wish he had another day to wait.

Bifur stepped out to open the gate, and Bofur glanced back at him from where he was sitting in the passenger seat. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, averting his gaze to the trees outside. "I just hope…"

The thought hit him, like a sickening moment of free fall. He'd been so focused on everything his group had gone through, all the losses they had endured, that he hadn't even considered what had been happening back at the farm. If someone had attacked the house, with so few of them left to defend it…

Bifur stepped back into the car, and Fíli swallowed down that train of thought. He just had to wait another minute.

They drove down to the house. Fíli watched the darkened windows, the empty porch, and felt his stomach churn.

Before they'd even parked the car, the front door swung open, and Fíli felt some of his nervous tension release. Glóin stepped outside, one hand on her gun, but when Bofur leaned out the window to wave at her, her shoulders sagged with relief.

Bifur parked the car and went out to greet her. Bofur turned to look at Fíli again. He felt slightly cold, like all the blood had drained from his face, and wondered if it showed.

"You take your time, alright?" Bofur gave him a small, reassuring smile, then stepped out of the car.

Fíli slumped a little in the seat, searching for any shred of courage that might motivate him to step out of the car, but it slipped through his fingers like sand.

"The others are staying in the mountain," Bifur was saying to Glóin. "Recovering, mostly. We had a rough time of it."

"So you made it into Erebor." Glóin put her hands on her hips. A furrow settled on her brow. "Did…Did everyone—"

Before she could finish the question, the door swung open again, and Gimli's shock of red hair flashed into view.

"Uncle Bofur!"

He tore down the stairs, Grim barking at his heels, and leapt at Bofur, who greeted him with a laugh. Brana followed him a moment later, a smile lighting up her face.

"You came back!" Gimli tugged on the corner of Bifur's jacket. He looked around, as though expecting the rest of the group to jump out from behind the car.

"They're not here," Bofur reached out to pat his shoulder, though a glimmer of grief passed over his face. "They're waiting somewhere else."

Beorn stepped out of the house, drying his hands with a dish towel, and his eyes widened in surprise as he took in the newcomers.

Fíli's heart was pounding. His fingers closed around the handle of the car door, but he still felt frozen in place.

"Can we go see them?" Gimli turned to his mothers.

Glóin crossed her arms. "You're gonna have to tell us the whole story."

Beorn stepped aside as someone else pushed their way onto the porch. Kíli stepped outside, eyes roaming over the people standing in the driveway, clearly noting how few of them there were.

The car door clicked, and before he knew it, Fíli was stumbling out, nearly tripping over the straps of his backpack. He only had time to straighten up before Kíli was sprinting across the grass, a grin lighting up his face like a sunrise.

"Fíli!"

He couldn't speak—and the breath was knocking out of him anyway when Kíli barreled into him. Fíli held him close as Kíli wrapped his arms around his chest, leaning his head on one shoulder.

"You're back," he said, sounding just as breathless as Fíli felt. "You came back."

And then the tears came like a rushing tide, surging forth before he could stop them. His chest shook with a thundering sob, and he clenched his jaw to try and muffle the sound.

"Fíli?" Kíli pulled back, and Fíli reluctantly released him. "What happened?"

He took in a shuddering breath and dragged his sleeve across his face. Bofur took a step towards them, one hand out like he wanted to intervene, but before anyone could speak, another figure appeared from around the side of the house.

_Mom_.

Dís had her sleeves rolled up, an empty bucket in one hand, but it clattered to the ground as she caught sight of them. Eyes wide, she rushed towards him. When she reached out to wrap her arms around him, Fíli felt a fresh wave of tears come forth.

"It's okay, baby." She held him tightly, one hand stroking his hair. "I've got you."

His nerves were gone now, replaced by a dense cord of dread that coiled around his heart like a snake. He didn't deserve this. She still didn't know what had happened.

Dís pulled back, holding his face in her hands. She looked up at him, and he could pinpoint the exact moment that she realized.

"Oh," she said softly, her expression crumpling, and she pulled him back in.

And Fíli could only gasp for air as her tears began to soak into the fabric of his shirt.

**Posting this from the back of my lecture hall haha. Updating is going to be weird with this time difference, but I'm going to try and keep it consistent.**


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

The farm was unnervingly quiet.

It was nighttime, a low chilly mist drifting above the grass of the front yard, and too cold for anything other than the wind to be making noise. Fíli could feel goosebumps on his skin, the threat of a shiver stealing up his spine, but he stayed where he was, sitting on the porch steps with his elbows resting on his knees.

It had been a slow, cold couple of days. Dís was grieving, and Glóin and Brana had done their best to support her. Beorn, Bifur, and Bofur had tried to keep Fíli occupied, but it was that time of year when work was slow. Usually, their winters had been meant for keeping warm and enjoying each other's company.

And Kíli…he was angry. He hadn't said anything, but Fíli could see the blame in his eyes, the way it had flashed on his face once he'd found out what had happened to Víli. Thinking about it now made a sharp ache curl in his chest.

_It's not your fault, _Dís had whispered to him the night after they'd returned to the farm. But the words seemed distant now. The fact was that Víli had left the safety of the farm because of _him_, and he'd died trying to protect him. That was all he could think of every time he saw the pain on Dís and Kíli's faces.

The screen door opened, and Fíli glanced behind him. He winced as Grim immediately licked him on the cheek, then trotted out onto the grass. He sniffed in a winding path for a while, then made for the bushes near the side of the house.

"He was getting restless," Beorn said, closing the door behind him. "Has been for the past couple of days. Sometimes I think he can sense that something's wrong."

"Yeah," Fíli said, his voice raspy. "He probably can."

The porch creaked as Beorn went to sit on the steps beside him. After a few minutes, Grim came bounding back and squeezed in between them, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Fíli smiled, the expression glimmering for half a second, and reached over to scratch behind his ears.

"I'm glad he's here," Fíli said, fingers tangling in the curly gray fur. "We saw a couple of stray dogs on the way back. They were starving, digging through empty garbage cans…" He swallowed. He'd wanted to help them, at least give them a little bit of food, but Bifur had reasoned that they were probably feral, and it wasn't worth the risk of getting bit.

Beorn hummed in agreement. "He's lived a good, long life…considering the state of things. Sometimes I envy him. He doesn't have to worry the way the rest of us do."

"Yeah." Fíli fiddled with a loose thread on his jeans, then cast an uncertain glance at the other man. "Um, Bofur and Glóin were talking about heading back to Erebor, the other day. I don't know if they told you."

"No. But I can't say I'm surprised."

They'd wanted to see the rest of the family. And thinking practically, now that Erebor was secured, it _was_ the safer place to be. If everything went well, it would be the last journey they would ever have to make.

"Are you gonna come with us?" Fíli asked.

Beorn didn't answer for a moment, keeping his gaze on the darkened trees outside the fence. There had always been a strange calm about him, even when they'd first met, when he'd been weathered and wild-looking. "This farm is my home. It has been my entire life." He clasped his hands together. "I'm going to stay here."

Fíli frowned. He wasn't exactly surprised, but the answer still hurt. "Why? You…You'd be alone again."

"Somewhat." Beorn rested a hand on Grim's back. He gave Fíli a sad smile. "I will miss you all. I think of you as my family, and I will always treasure the years we had together. But this house, these fields, is where I belong." His lips curled wryly. "Who knows? Maybe I'll find another group to adopt in a few months."

Fíli couldn't find any real humor in that. He glared at the porch railing and brushed away a few blades of dry grass. "I don't get how you can just…let go like that."

"It's because I have a choice." His voice lowered. "More than I did with my first family."

He flinched at that. He knew loss more intimately than he had when he'd first learned about Beorn's family. He couldn't imagine losing Víli, Dís, and Kíli all in the same day and surviving it.

He shook his head. "I still don't get it."

"That's alright. I just want you to remember this." Beorn put a hand on his shoulder, making him look up. "Whatever happens, you keep finding something to hold onto. Something to fight for."

A low breeze swept over the porch, and Fíli shivered.

"No matter what happens, you will always need that."The farm was unnervingly quiet.

It was nighttime, a low chilly mist drifting above the grass of the front yard, and too cold for anything other than the wind to be making noise. Fíli could feel goosebumps on his skin, the threat of a shiver stealing up his spine, but he stayed where he was, sitting on the porch steps with his elbows resting on his knees.

It had been a slow, cold couple of days. Dís was grieving, and Glóin and Brana had done their best to support her. Beorn, Bifur, and Bofur had tried to keep Fíli occupied, but it was that time of year when work was slow. Usually, their winters had been meant for keeping warm and enjoying each other's company.

And Kíli…he was angry. He hadn't said anything, but Fíli could see the blame in his eyes, the way it had flashed on his face once he'd found out what had happened to Víli. Thinking about it now made a sharp ache curl in his chest.

_It's not your fault, _Dís had whispered to him the night after they'd returned to the farm. But the words seemed distant now. The fact was that Víli had left the safety of the farm because of _him_, and he'd died trying to protect him. That was all he could think of every time he saw the pain on Dís and Kíli's faces.

The screen door opened, and Fíli glanced behind him. He winced as Grim immediately licked him on the cheek, then trotted out onto the grass. He sniffed in a winding path for a while, then made for the bushes near the side of the house.

"He was getting restless," Beorn said, closing the door behind him. "Has been for the past couple of days. Sometimes I think he can sense that something's wrong."

"Yeah," Fíli said, his voice raspy. "He probably can."

The porch creaked as Beorn went to sit on the steps beside him. After a few minutes, Grim came bounding back and squeezed in between them, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Fíli smiled, the expression glimmering for half a second, and reached over to scratch behind his ears.

"I'm glad he's here," Fíli said, fingers tangling in the curly gray fur. "We saw a couple of stray dogs on the way back. They were starving, digging through empty garbage cans…" He swallowed. He'd wanted to help them, at least give them a little bit of food, but Bifur had reasoned that they were probably feral, and it wasn't worth the risk of getting bit.

Beorn hummed in agreement. "He's lived a good, long life…considering the state of things. Sometimes I envy him. He doesn't have to worry the way the rest of us do."

"Yeah." Fíli fiddled with a loose thread on his jeans, then cast an uncertain glance at the other man. "Um, Bofur and Glóin were talking about heading back to Erebor, the other day. I don't know if they told you."

"No. But I can't say I'm surprised."

They'd wanted to see the rest of the family. And thinking practically, now that Erebor was secured, it _was_ the safer place to be. If everything went well, it would be the last journey they would ever have to make.

"Are you gonna come with us?" Fíli asked.

Beorn didn't answer for a moment, keeping his gaze on the darkened trees outside the fence. There had always been a strange calm about him, even when they'd first met, when he'd been weathered and wild-looking. "This farm is my home. It has been my entire life." He clasped his hands together. "I'm going to stay here."

Fíli frowned. He wasn't exactly surprised, but the answer still hurt. "Why? You…You'd be alone again."

"Somewhat." Beorn rested a hand on Grim's back. He gave Fíli a sad smile. "I will miss you all. I think of you as my family, and I will always treasure the years we had together. But this house, these fields, is where I belong." His lips curled wryly. "Who knows? Maybe I'll find another group to adopt in a few months."

Fíli couldn't find any real humor in that. He glared at the porch railing and brushed away a few blades of dry grass. "I don't get how you can just…let go like that."

"It's because I have a choice." His voice lowered. "More than I did with my first family."

He flinched at that. He knew loss more intimately than he had when he'd first learned about Beorn's family. He couldn't imagine losing Víli, Dís, and Kíli all in the same day and surviving it.

He shook his head. "I still don't get it."

"That's alright. I just want you to remember this." Beorn put a hand on his shoulder, making him look up. "Whatever happens, you keep finding something to hold onto. Something to fight for."

A low breeze swept over the porch, and Fíli shivered.

"No matter what happens, you will always need that."

* * *

Fíli stopped at the edge of the lake. A few orange leaves were floating lazily on the still surface, and his breath fogged in the air.

They'd left the farm a few days ago, and were camped out by the lake at the foot of the mountain. The land was still scarred with the evidence of the herd that had passed through earlier: broken fences and grass flattened by hundreds of footsteps. The smell of rotting flesh still lingered in the air.

Seeing the walkers now…even the smell was enough to throw him back into that burning night and the memory of Víli's blank eyes. It made him angry, it made him ache, and he wasn't sure he deserved to feel any of it.

He stuck his hands into his pockets to warm them up, and paused as he felt the crinkle of plastic against his palm. He pulled out the packet of cookies Bilbo had given him before he'd left. He'd forgotten about them in his anxiety about returning to the farm, and the grief that had hung over their return journey.

Seeing them now just made his mouth feel dry. He wasn't hungry. He felt sick. Fíli cocked back his arm and flung it as far as he could. The package splashed against the water and sank beneath the surface.

He stared at the rippling lake and felt a familiar ache rise in his chest. He clenched his jaw as tears threatened to rise again.

"Fíli?" Dís came down the small wooded slope behind him. "Everything okay? You were gone for a while."

He'd originally volunteered to scout for walkers nearby, and Bofur had given him the okay, though he hadn't missed how he and his cousin had been watching him since they'd left Erebor.

Fíli shrugged and cleared his throat. "Everything's fine. We can head back, now."

"Let's sit for a while." Dís gestured to a small ridge nearby.

He followed her lead, ignoring the stiffness in his limbs. Ever since he'd come back to the farm, Dís had looked at him with a mixture of love and sadness, had tried to comfort him the best she could while shouldering her own grief. And every time she held him, it felt like a lie.

"Do you remember when we lost Kíli?" Dís asked. Her voice was steady, but threaded with the hoarseness of recent tears. "Back at the motel?"

"Yeah," Fíli replied, looking down at the dead leaves beneath his feet. He'd barely been able to move afterwards, weighed down by grief and self-blame, but that incident seemed more like a forgotten nightmare after everything else that had happened.

"I thought that was the end of the fucking world." Dís let out a low, raspy laugh and shook her head. "I mean, it wasn't the outbreak that did it for me. It was losing you two…that first time, then the motel, then the warehouse…"

Fíli winced. And now she could add Erebor to that list.

"You know, I wouldn't care if we had flesh-eating corpses after us, if…if the whole damn country got bombed to hell and we had to live in some underground bunker. I just know I'll be alright as long as I have you two." Dís reached out and cupped his cheek, turning him towards her, then held his face in both hands. "You and Kíli are the greatest treasures this world has ever given me. And I don't want you to blame yourself for what happened."

The back of his throat was burning, and Fíli felt his jaw tremble. "But you didn't want us to go. And I-I got him killed."

"You didn't," Dís said, an unshakable calm in her eyes. "You made that journey because you believed in it. I can't blame you for that. And Víli kept you safe." A tear slipped down her cheek. "He was a good father, a good husband, and I couldn't have asked any more from either of you."

Fíli leaned forward, resting his head on her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around him.

"Kíli thinks it's my fault," he mumbled in between sobs.

"He's grieving," Dís said. "He's not gonna hold that against you forever. He _loves_ you."

Fíli sniffled and nodded against her shoulder.

"I can tell you that all I want, but you have to believe it yourself." Dís pressed a kiss into his hair. "You have to forgive yourself."

They sat there for a while longer, until the sun began to dip towards the horizon and the temperature dropped further. Bifur and Bofur were heating a few cans of beans over the campfire when they returned. Kíli was sitting in the car, hunched over his game system like he had been for the past few days.

"I was beginning to think one of you fell in the lake," Glóin said, though she exchanged a quick, affirming glance with Dís. "You ready to eat?"

"Just about." Dís gave Fíli's shoulder a quick squeeze before going to retrieve the water bottles from the car.

"Gimli, stay where we can see you," Brana called.

"I found a rabbit hole!" Gimli said, crouched in the bushes at the edge of the clearing.

Out of all of them, Gimli had consistently been the cheeriest. They'd decided not to tell him about Balin and Víli until they reached Erebor, so as far as he knew, they were simply taking a trip to see the rest of the family. He'd been treating this all as one big adventure, nearly running off more than once, though Brana and Glóin had kept a close eye on him.

"Well, you'd better leave them alone." Brana walked over and swept him up. "Little rabbits have to stay warm for the winter, yeah?" She tickled under his chin, making him squeal with laugher.

"Let's keep it down," Glóin said, though she was grinning as she walked over and wound an arm around Brana's waist.

Fíli watched them for a moment—Gimli and his mothers, happy and intertwined, glowing in the firelight. Then he shoved his hands in his empty pockets and turned away.

* * *

Thorin's muscles were burning, the wound on his gut a small flame of agony, but he kept driving his fists into the dusty nylon of the punching bag. He tried to focus on the rhythm of his blows, the familiar strain of exercise.

Óin had finally given him permission to leave the infirmary, on the condition that he keep resting in one of the apartments. The thought of staring at a different blank ceiling had been almost unbearable, and it had only taken a half hour for Thorin to retrace his memories to the training area.

Erebor was smaller than he'd remembered it. He'd only been a child, about Kíli's age, last time he'd walked these halls. It felt emptier, too, and it echoed more than anything.

They'd walked into a shell, a labyrinth of empty space, and Thorin still hadn't found the sense of security he'd been looking for every time he'd looked at the mountain from afar.

There was no security for Balin or Víli. The group from the farm was due to arrive any day now, and he wondered if they would look into Erebor and see only the blood they'd spent trying to reach it.

All of this, the steel doors and the shelves of food, it wasn't worth _anything_, because he'd failed to keep his family safe.

He threw himself back into the beat of his fists against the heavy bag, the throbbing of his knuckles and the low thundering like the echo of gunshots—

"What the hell are you doing?"

Thorin stopped, but he didn't turn as Bilbo walked into the room.

"You're going to tear your stitches!" He was at Thorin's side in an instant, taking his arm and guiding him towards one of the benches along the wall.

Thorin sat down, breathing hard. A droplet of sweat ran past his ear, down onto the damp fabric of his shirt. Now that his adrenaline was beginning to fade, the pain in his stomach was growing, gnawing hungrily at his nerve endings.

With an exasperated sigh, Bilbo lifted up his shirt to check his stitches. He let the hem fall back into place, apparently not finding anything serious. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Thorin shook his head, eyes on the ground as he tried to catch his breath.

Bilbo knelt down and raised Thorin's chin so their eyes met. "Talk to me. _Please_."

"I almost got you all killed," Thorin said hoarsely. He grasped Bilbo's hand, his thumb running over the bandage wrapped around his palm. "I-I sent you in there, and you could have _died_."

"Thorin, we've talked about this before. We all—"

"If it wasn't for me," Thorin said, the strain in his voice pulled taut, "Balin and Víli would still be alive."

Bilbo fell silent at that, the exasperation in his eyes faltering. He lifted himself up and sat on the bench beside Thorin.

"I failed." He put his head in his hands, fingers threading through the sweat-soaked strands of his hair. "I…I should have found a way to keep them safe."

"Thorin…" Gently, he took one of his hands, clasping it in both of his. "You know you can't keep everyone safe, right?"

The words echoed like a flicker of candlelight, and for a moment he could hear Frerin's voice. _You can't save everyone. At some point you have to forgive yourself for that_.

"I mean, think about how the world was before," Bilbo continued. "After the outbreak, most people just…died. And you led us through that hell, through all of it, for years. But you can't take on the whole world. You couldn't have known what was going to happen."

Thorin turned away, shaking off the memory of his brother's words as something like anger pushed past the pain in his gut. "You don't have to do that."

"What?"

"You don't have to…to look on the bright side of things. People are _dead_, Bilbo. Why are you—"

"Because it's done! And we can't go back. We can't go back to the way things used to be." His voice wavered. "And I can see this is eating you up on the inside. That it has for a long time." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't want to lose you to this."

Thorin closed his eyes. "How can you still feel that way? After everything?"

Bilbo let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "You think I would stop loving you after this?" He put a hand on Thorin's chest, right over his heart. "I still know who you are. You nearly died trying to take this mountain, trying to make this a home for us. Ever since I met you, you've given everything you have to keep your family safe. You lost your way for a while, and you see that now. You still have a chance to make things right."

"I can't bring them back," he said softly.

"I know." He held on tighter, and Thorin could feel his heartbeat against Bilbo's palm. "But we…we have to do _something_. We're here, now, and we have to make something out of it." He took a deep breath. "Please, talk to the others. Talk to _yourself_."

Thorin finally turned to look at him. He could never deny that pleading look, and the quiet desperation in Bilbo's voice was enough to give him a sliver of clarity. He took the hand on his chest and held it in his own. "I just…I need time."

"Alright." Bilbo lowered his gaze and nodded. "I suppose we have plenty of that, now." He sat with him for a moment longer, then stood up. "I'm going to find some painkillers for you, so you can walk around a little. You are in _desperate _need of a shower."

His lips twitched, just barely. He reached out and wound his arms around Bilbo, leaning his head against his chest. It was an enormous relief to be this close to him again, to feel his warmth and compassion. "Thank you."

Bilbo returned the embrace, fingers gently stroking along his neck. "I think we'll be alright," he said softly. "I think we can make this into a new beginning."

* * *

Bilbo stepped outside and zipped up his coat with a wince as a blast of icy wind swept across the slopes of the mountain. He went to stand next to Bombur, who was standing a little ways away with a pair of binoculars lifted to his face.

"Are you sure you saw them?" he asked, trying not to slip as he descended.

The whole mountain had been covered in a thick blanket of snow overnight. A white layer hung over the branches and softened the slopes, as if laying to rest the final ashes of everything that had taken place. The sun was setting now, casting a burnt red glow across the crystalline drifts.

"I definitely saw a couple of cars heading this way," Bombur said, lowering the binoculars. "Even if it isn't them, it's better to keep an eye out."

Bilbo hummed in agreement. It was strange to think that, even if there were dangerous people nearby, all they really had to do was shut the door and wait for them to leave. He crossed his arms and shivered. It was all the more reason to have the others return as soon as possible.

After a few minutes, Bombur lifted the binoculars again. He searched in silence for a few minutes, then grinned. "Yeah, it's them. I just saw Glóin the passenger seat."

"Good." Bilbo smiled, though he wasn't feeling particularly optimistic. "Do you…Do you think everyone is there?"

"Definitely enough for them to need two cars," Bombur replied. "Not sure if Beorn is with them, though."

"I don't think he is." Bilbo frowned slightly. "I…I could tell, before we first set out for Erebor. I don't think he'd want to live with us here."

"Well, that's a shame. The house probably seems a lot bigger now."

He hummed in agreement. He knew from personal experience how difficult solitude could be in this world. "I hope we get the chance to see him again."

Bombur moved down the slope to get a better view. "Oh, looks like they're getting out of the cars, now. Surprised they made it this far, with how snowy the roads are."

"Maybe we should have done some shoveling for them."

The snow crunched behind them, and they turned to see Óin making his way down the slope.

"You see them yet?"

"They're walking up now." Bombur slipped the binoculars into his pocket.

"Let's go meet them," Bilbo said, and despite everything, his heart lifted at the thought of seeing his family again.

"Yeah, why not. I'll just walkie Nori to keep an eye on the door."

They set off down the mountainside, struggling through the thick drifts of snow. Bilbo turned to Óin, who was taking up the rear. He looked a little more well-rested, now that Thorin was no longer in a life-threatening condition, but still fairly exhausted.

"Watch your step."

"Yeah, yeah." Óin waved him off.

When the other group caught sight of them from below, they all brightened. Bofur grinned and let out a sharp whistle. Glóin waved, her red hair standing out like fire against the snow. Even Fíli cracked a smile.

It still took a few minutes for the two groups to reach each other, but crossing that final distance was like a homecoming. Bombur pulled his brother and cousin into a hug. Óin kissed Gimli on the forehead and went to embrace his sisters.

"Bilbo!" Kíli was slightly out of breath from the uphill climb, but he nearly knocked Bilbo into the snow as he ran to hug him. "You're okay."

"Of course I am." Bilbo ruffled his hair with a smile. "And I missed you a lot."

"Hey, don't hog him." Dís was next, climbing up the slope to meet him. Immediately, he could see the grief in her eyes, but her smile was warm as ever as she wrapped her arms around him. "It's so good to see you."

Bilbo shut his eyes. "It's good to see you, too."

He looked over her shoulder at Fíli, who was ascending at a slower pace. He looked worn from the journey, but a little lighter, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Bilbo smiled and reached out to squeeze his hand.

"Mommy, look!" Gimli had squirmed out of Óin's grasp and was pointing to a series of tiny footprints in the snow, where some sort of animal had passed. "Is this a rabbit?"

"Possibly." Brana smiled. "Just stay where we can see you, okay?"

"Yeah, I think he's gonna be a hunter when he grows up," Glóin said with a smirk. "I told you, didn't I?"

"Or maybe," Brana reached over to pinch her side, "he'll be a zoologist."

"How was the trip?" Bilbo turned back to Dís and Fíli. "Not too much trouble, I hope?"

Fíli shrugged. "It was pretty easy, since we knew the route." He cast an uncertain glance at Kíli, who was talking to Bofur.

"And how's Thorin?" Dís asked, almost unconsciously putting a reassuring hand on Fíli's shoulder. "I…I heard he got shot."

"He's healing," Bilbo said. "He's already been through the worst of it, and…he'll be alright."

Although Thorin hadn't said anything about it, Bilbo knew he was worried about how Dís would look at him, after everything. That was a bridge they would have to cross eventually—hopefully sooner rather than later.

"Well, we'd better head inside before our fingers freeze off," Bilbo said. "We've got plenty of food inside, running water, everything."

"Are there TVs?" Kíli asked, appearing at his shoulder. He hefted his backpack. "I brought all our games."

Bilbo smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "Then I think you'll be thrilled to know that there are several TVs inside."

"Yes!"

"Gimli, come on," Glóin called. "Enough adventuring."

Gimli was lying in a snowdrift a few feet away, giggling. He sat up, a few clumps of snow falling from his curly hair.

A hand emerged from the snow and closed around his arm.

Glóin swore and reached for her gun. Brana was gasping, running desperately through the thick drifts.

The walker sat up, its rotting skin glazed with ice. Its movements were sluggish, as if the cold had frozen its blood. Gimli whimpered and tried to roll away, but its grip on his arm only tightened.

And then their group was moving as one, bristling with guns and scrambling through the snow even as time seemed to crawl. Bilbo slipped and scraped his hand against the bark of a tree as he tried to catch his fall.

A scream rent the air, piercing and liquid like the last falling rays of the sun. A gunshot followed it, and then Brana was wailing, sobbing, and Bilbo finally managed to push himself to his feet.

Gimli was crying, too, clinging to Glóin as she lifted him from the snow. The walker lay still, a bullet hole in the center of its forehead.

And there was fury on Glóin's face, and blood onto her hand, dripping from the green of Gimli's coat, from the torn flesh on his shoulder, and the steaming red pattered on the snow like rain.

**Hi, I'm sorry I did a very evil thing just now, please just bear with me until next chapter. I promise I don't do anything like this without reason and this is going somewhere. I am…so sorry.**


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

His hands were raw, the pungent scent of cleaner stinging his nostrils, but Bilbo kept scrubbing at the floor. His blood had turned into a dark brown stain in the wood, a grisly halo around the inch-long hole where the knife had entered.

He didn't know why he was back down here. He'd avoided the wine cellar like it had been filled with walkers since the last time he'd stumbled through the door. Even moving through the food storage and the kitchen was a challenge. He'd been able to wipe the blood easily from the appliances in the kitchen and the concrete wall just outside, but getting it out of this damn floor was _impossible_.

The creak of footsteps against the floor made him jump, but it was only Dís. She hovered in the doorway, looking uncertain, and the sight made his stomach drop a little. Dís never looked uncertain.

"Is that blood?" she asked lowly, nodded to the stain he was trying to scrub out. It was streaked with tiny white suds, but dark enough to be recognizable.

Bilbo sat back on his heels and nodded, swallowing back a sudden lump in his throat. He realized now that he probably looked a little unhinged, desperately trying to clean the floor of some hidden room in the middle of the night. But everything seemed a little…insane after the events of the previous day.

"I'll be back." Dís turned and left the room.

He dropped the sponge with a sigh and wiped his hands on his pants. His arms were sore, and the wound on his palm was stinging. He hoped none of the cleaner had gotten under his bandage. In hindsight, he'd probably have been better off wearing gloves.

In hindsight…

Dís returned after a couple minutes, carrying a box of baking soda, a bottle of vinegar, and a roll of paper towels. She knelt down, wiped away the rest of the cleaner (revealing how little progress he'd made), then sprinkled some of the baking soda over the stain.

"We have to let this sit for a little." She sat down and wrapped her arms around her knees. At his questioning look, she said, "I have a lot of experience getting blood out of things. Not that I'm a serial killer or anything."

Bilbo tried for a smile, mostly for her sake. Humor and laughter felt as flimsy as paper at the moment. He took one of the towels and began cleaning his hands more thoroughly. "How…How can you be so calm right now?"

The calm in her expression cracked a little, like porcelain, and Bilbo immediately regretted asking.

She was silent for a long moment. "I think I'm still in shock. Or denial, or something. I…I still wake up everyday and have to _remember_. I-I keep expecting him to be next to me." Her voice cracked. "And then after yesterday…"

Bilbo nodded and clenched his jaw. It had been a mad, panicked rush back to the front door. There had been the terrifying sense that they were running out of time, that they'd had to move quickly, but Óin's inspection had proved what they all feared.

Gimli's face had been swollen with tears and pain while Óin placed a bandage over the bite on his shoulder. No one had had the heart to say that it wasn't going to do much in the end. And no one had protested when Glóin and Brana had taken him into one of the apartments.

That had been more than twenty four hours ago. And the rest of them had been milling around like walkers since then, cold and lifeless in their horror.

Dís buried her face in her hands, her voice thick with tears. "This whole thing has just been a fucking disaster."

Bilbo couldn't exactly argue with that. But he didn't miss the undercurrent of anger in her tone.

"Do you blame Thorin?" he asked quietly.

She stiffened. In the chaos of the past day, Bilbo wasn't even sure if she'd had the chance to see him.

"Because I promise whatever you're feeling, Thorin's already turned it on himself ten times over."

"He could have gotten Fíli killed." Dís dropped her hands from her face. "I can't control what the rest of you do. But Thorin planted that idea in Fíli's head, convinced him he…he needed to go back out there." The lines on her face hardened. "And Víli paid for that."

Bilbo flinched. It took him a long moment to gather the words he wanted to say. "I…I don't know that I could have talked him out of it. But he…I think he understands now."

Dís let out a bitter laugh. "Well, thank god for that."

He swallowed as his throat tightened. He had every intention of defending Thorin as much as he deserved, but he could very clearly see Dís's pain, and he couldn't really fault her for it.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I don't know if there's a way we come back from this. But I wish you would talk to him."

Her shoulders sagged, as if the exhaustion of everything that had happened had hit her at once. "I just wish Víli was here," she said, her voice thick with tears. "I miss him so much."

Bilbo moved so he could put an arm around her shoulders while she cried. He felt hollow, like an aching wasteland inside, like tears were nothing more than a distant dream of rain.

Eventually, her sobs guttered and faded, and she fumbled for the bottle of vinegar, forgotten on the floor. She poured it over the white-powdered stain, and they watched as the mixture began to bubble and seethe.

Bilbo took a breath and forced himself to speak. "You know, Víli told me he wished he could be more like you. That he could be strong the way you are." He held her tighter. "We're all here for you. And you've always held yourself up. You're going to be alright. We all will."

The words felt empty, fragile, but he wanted to believe them anyway.

* * *

Hesitantly, Fíli pushed open the bedroom door. "Kíli?"

His brother was sitting against the headboard, tapping furiously on his handheld game. He didn't look up when Fíli walked in, but the concentrated scowl on his face deepened.

"Um…" Fíli leaned against the doorway, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. Dís and Kíli had moved into the apartment he'd been staying in before they'd arrived, but his brother had barely looked at him since the farm. He'd been planning on waiting until they reached Erebor to try and bridge that gap, but after everything, he'd barely had time to even think about it.

Kíli continued playing his game, as though he'd forgotten about him altogether.

"Did you want to…check out the game room?" He shoved his hands into his pockets. "They have a lot of cool stuff down there."

A few seconds of silence ticked by. Eventually, Kíli said, "Just leave me alone."

Fíli sighed through his nose and stepped farther into the room. "Look, can you just stop ignoring me for five seconds? Can…Can we just talk about what happened?"

"No." Kíli drew his knees towards his chest, scrunching himself into a tighter ball. "Just go away."

Fíli looked at his brother, at the hard, stubborn lines on his face, and felt something in his chest coil tight. He crossed the room, snatched the game from Kíli's hands, and tossed it away.

"What the hell?" Kíli leapt forward and shoved him hard enough to make him stumble.

Fíli caught himself and stood his ground. "Stop looking at your stupid game and talk to me!"

Kíli was perched on the bed, breathing hard, like some wild animal. "I don't need to listen to you! You _left!_"

Fíli almost flinched at his tone, even as he felt a strange relief that Kíli was finally talking to him. Anger was better than silence. "I came back."

"Yeah, but Dad didn't." His voice gained a ragged edge. "You took him on this stupid mission, and he _died_."

The words were like a physical blow to the chest, so close to what he'd been telling himself. Fíli clenched his fists. "I…I didn't…"

"Why did you have to leave?" Kíli's eyes filled with tears.

"I just wanted a safe place for us. For everyone," he said, ashamed at the unsteadiness of his voice. He took a deep breath as pain streaked across his chest. "What happened to Gimli…I-I mean, what if that was you? I would _die_ if anything happened to you." He took in another shaky breath. "Especially if something happened, and you were angry with me, and—" He swallowed down a sob.

Kíli's expression crumpled. He got off the bed and threw himself across the room. Fíli braced himself, but Kíli only wrapped his arms around his chest.

"I-I don't want you to get hurt." Kíli sniffled. "Don't leave again."

"Okay." Fíli wrapped his arms around Kíli's shoulders. He tried his best to control the trembling in his own chest. "And I'm…I'm sorry about Dad."

Kíli only held him tighter.

* * *

"We have to do something about this. It's been two days."

Bilbo crossed his arms and tried not to shiver. Everyone was gathered in the hallway in a semicircle around Glóin and Brana's room, debating in hushed tones.

It had been two days since Gimli had been bit. Everyone turned within two days. It had been one of the only things those studying the virus had been able to figure out before the world ended—the virus would kill you and bring you back within two days.

Balin had only taken a few minutes after he'd passed. The memory made him shudder violently. It had been horrible enough, seeing Dwalin's broken posture next to his brother's body, knowing that he'd had to make such a terrible sacrifice because he had no other choice.

To think that Glóin and Brana were going through that same horror, that they would have to face it with their son…

Thorin's voice broke him out of his thoughts. "Is everyone armed?"

Bilbo looked around. Almost everyone had a knife on them—he couldn't really sleep without his nearby—and a few others, including Bifur and Dwalin, had guns as well.

"Why?" Dís asked slowly, frowning.

Almost imperceptibly, Thorin balked at her question. Now that he had some of his strength back, he'd started spending more time with the others, and had slipped back into his role as their leader, but Bilbo still caught small signs of hesitation in his actions.

"We don't know what we're going to find in there," Thorin said, holding Dís's gaze. "We need to be prepared, make sure no one else gets hurt."

"We need to stop standing around with our thumbs up our asses," Óin growled, pushing his way to the front of the group. He banged on the door, the rattling making some of them jump. "Glóin! Open the hell up, or we'll break this thing down ourselves!"

He stepped back and they all waited in breathless silence. Óin's shoulders were stiff, betraying a fear that Bilbo had never seen in him before.

After a long moment, the door opened. Glóin stood just inside, at the edge of the shadows swathing the darkened living room. She looked exhausted, but…calm. She looked around at the group, taking in each of their faces, though her own was unreadable.

"Well?" Óin spread his hands in typical impatience, though it didn't hide the slight tremor in his voice.

"Come in," Glóin said, and gestured with her chin for them to enter. "Just keep it down."

They all shuffled inside, with Glóin at the front. She walked backwards, facing them, each movement carefully placed. Though she looked deceptively relaxed, Bilbo knew she was calculating every move, preparing in case she had to fight. The sight made unease twist in his stomach.

She led them to one of the bedrooms, and opened the door just wide enough to stick her head in. "It's everyone."

"They can come in," Brana responded softly.

The bedroom was dim, lit only by a lamp in one corner, and smelled stale. Brana was sitting in the center of the bed, amidst rumpled sheets, and Gimli was lying with his head in her lap. At the sound of their footsteps, he lifted his head and blinked sleepily.

Bilbo's heart stuttered. Gimli looked drawn and exhausted, his hair disheveled and damp with leftover sweat, but his eyes were clear and alert.

He looked up at Brana. "Can we go outside now?"

Glóin stood at the edge of the bed, still tense. "He's not…He hasn't…"

Óin took a step forward. "May I?" When Glóin nodded, he went to sit on the bed and pressed the back of his hand to Gimli's forehead. "How are you feeling, lad?"

"Tired." Gimli rubbed at his eyes. "And thirsty."

Glóin retrieved a bottle of water from her pack—Bilbo guessed that was how they'd been feeding themselves for the past couple of days—and handed it to Gimli.

Dís finally spoke up, voicing the question that was on everyone's mind. "What happened?"

"We were just…trying to wait it out." Brana capped the bottle once Gimli was done with it. "Give him some peace while he…" Her voice wavered. "We were going to call you all in once i-it was getting close. But then his fever started going down."

"He's still a little warm," Óin said. "But not dangerously so."

They all fell silent. Bilbo couldn't stop staring at Gimli, the movement of his little fingers as he reached down to tug at his socks.

"So…" Bofur cleared his throat. "So he just got better?"

"That's what it looks like, doesn't it?" Glóin crossed her arms and glared at him.

"Hey." Thorin held a hand out. "No one's going to hurt him. We're just trying to understand what's going on."

"Wait a second," Bombur said. "Brana, do you remember that baby we saw on the bridge? I-It was a while back, when we were still on the road. That was the day Ori got…um, bit."

Brana frowned—no doubt it wasn't an exactly pleasant memory for her to relive at the moment. "I remember."

Everyone turned to Bombur as he continued. "We saw a baby in one of the cars. It must have been really young. I-I mean, it was pretty small. And it was dead, but…it hadn't turned."

Dís crossed her arms. "What are you trying to say?"

"Gimli was born after," Bombur said. "He was born after the outbreak. A-And it's been two days, and the bite hasn't killed him. So what if he's immune?"

The room fell silent. Bilbo wasn't sure he was ready to entertain that train of thought, or what it would mean for them if it was true. The others wore similar hesitant expressions. Even Nori looked uncertain.

"What's immune?" Gimli asked. Everyone turned to look at him.

"I think you need a checkup," Óin said, patting him on the leg. "You want to come to Uncle Óin's new office?"

Gimli scowled and nestled further against Brana's leg. "I don't like checkups."

Kíli wormed his way to the front of the group and knelt at the edge of the bed. "Hey, Gimli, I'll get you some candy if you're good."

Gimli considered the offer for a long moment, then nodded. Óin helped him off the bed, careful of his shoulder, and the two of them set off towards the infirmary.

The others followed just behind, and Bilbo noticed there was a new energy among them. There was a lightness in his chest, an almost foreign sensation he didn't dare call hope.

They all watched as Óin lifted Gimli onto one of the beds in the infirmary and checked his temperature and his reflexes. Brana held him while Óin peeled away the bandage on his shoulder and inspected it. He stared at the wound for a long time, long enough that Glóin demanded, "What is it?"

"Still looks like shit," Óin said lowly. "It's gonna need stitches. But it…it's showing signs of healing. Swollen, but not infected." He looked up at the rest of them. "We're going to have to watch it for the next couple of weeks. But I don't see any reason why he wouldn't recover."

Brana let out a choked sob, and Glóin held her as she began to cry.

Gimli looked up at his mothers with wide eyes. "Why is mommy crying?"

"She's just glad you're alright," Óin said.

His face scrunched into a frown. "She's crying because she's happy?"

"Yeah." Óin walked around the bed and took Gimli's face in his hands. "Are you hungry, lad?"

He nodded.

"What for?"

Gimli glanced at the rest of the group. "Can I have some candy?"

Dís let out a stuttering laugh that might have also been a sob, and a shaky wave of mirth swept over their group.

And Bilbo felt, for the first time in weeks, that he could breathe easy again.

* * *

Thorin took a deep breath to calm his nerves as he walked down the hallway. He'd been putting this off for too long, and now that the dust had settled, with his family reunited and Gimli making a steady recovery, he had no more excuses to keep delaying it.

Dwalin and Bilbo had both been right in that he needed to speak to his family, to lay bare all that had been going through his mind in the past several days, and that was what he intended to do. That was the only way they could truly move forward.

The sound of cheerful conversation and clinking utensils grew louder as he neared the door. The group had repurposed one of the conference rooms in another section of the base as a makeshift dining room. The cafeteria, spacious as it was, seemed a little too big for their group, and made Bilbo anxious besides.

Bard met him outside the door, coming from the opposite direction. Since entering the mountain, Thorin had only seen him in passing. He tended to keep to himself, though his children had grown close with Fíli and Kíli.

Thorin nodded to him as they drew closer. "Can I have a word?"

"Sure." Bard stopped, slipping his hands into his pockets. He still had a serious set to his brow, but he looked much more relaxed than he had in the abandoned town.

"I heard what you did, out there. And I wanted to thank you for dealing with that psychopath. None of us might have made it out if it wasn't for you."

"I just did what had to be done." Bard shrugged. "And I guess I should thank you for not stabbing me in the face when we first met."

Thorin smiled briefly at that. "I want you to know that you're welcome to stay here. Your children deserve a safe place to grow up."

A small measure of tension disappeared from his brow. "I'm glad to hear it."

Thorin gestured for him to go first, and they entered the room together. The others were all sitting around the table, sharing canned green beans and tomato soup. Bard's children, Fíli, and Gimli were all gathered at one corner of the table, watching intently as Kíli rolled a pair of dice.

When Bilbo saw him enter, he smiled and gestured to the empty seat next to him. It lifted Thorin's heart every time to see life in his eyes again, to see joy come more easily on his face. He walked around the table to stand next to him and squeezed his shoulder briefly, but didn't sit down.

He lifted his gaze to the rest of the group. "There's something I need to say."

Gradually, silence trickled across the table as everyone turned to look at him.

"It's been more than a month since I told you all about my plans for this place. For Erebor." He glanced down at the table. "And it's…a great relief to me to see you all safe, in each other's company." He took a deep breath. "But I was wrong. My idea of safety, of security, was never worth risking any of your lives."

He glanced across the table at Dís. She was watching him closely, her gaze shadowed with pain.

"All I have ever wanted was for you all to be safe. And I let that blind me. I let a rift grow between myself and the rest of you. I wasted valuable time that I could have spent with my family trying to find a way to shelter you all from the rest of the world."

He fell silent again, trying to gather his courage. Bilbo was looking at him, and though he didn't reach out, the steadiness of his presence, the love in his eyes, was enough to bolster him.

"I have no right to ask this of any of you," Thorin continued lowly. "But I would still lead you into whatever comes next…on your terms. You're all my family, and…" He paused as something in his chest tightened. "I want to hear you."

Silence fell once more. Everyone was still looking at him, but Thorin found it difficult to read their expressions, or to focus on anything other than the white-hot pounding of his heart.

"You've been good to us," Ori said softly. "And you've always been part of our family."

Dwalin grunted in agreement. "Just sit with us. Unless you're asking for us to vote for you or something."

The others joined in with murmurs of assent. Dís raised her water bottle in silent approval, her eyes shining slightly. He knew they would have to talk further later, but the small gesture was enough for the moment.

Thorin sat down in the empty chair, and conversation quickly resumed again, as though it had never stopped.

Bilbo clasped his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "I'm proud of you."

Thorin smiled and squeezed his hand. He was grateful now, more than ever, that Bilbo had been there to help him find his way. "I love you. I…I just want to say it now that I'm not dying from a gunshot wound."

His gaze softened in a way that made Thorin wish they were alone in the room. "You know, you've already proven it to me a hundred times over. But I guess I wouldn't mind hearing it more often…"

He leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I'll see what I can do about that tonight."

And the blush that spread across Bilbo's cheeks was enough to make him grin for the rest of the meal.

Gradually, the room began to empty. Kíli, Tilda, and Gimli scampered off on some wild adventure. Bifur and Ori gathered up the empty dishes and took them to the kitchen. Bofur and Bilbo set off to explore the greenhouse. Nori proclaimed he could finally put his marijuana seeds to use and followed them.

There was still work to be done—there always would be. But they had _time_, now, and a sense of freedom that they hadn't before.

Fíli was one of the last ones to leave the room. He waved goodbye to Sigrid and Bain, looking slightly exhausted, and left the room.

Thorin stood and caught him just outside the door. "Fíli. Can we talk?"

He turned around, looking slightly uncertain. "Uh, sure. What about?"

"I…" Thorin thought back to all the times before, when he'd tried to bridge that gap between him and his nephew. How he'd always failed when Fíli was suffering the most. How eventually he'd stopped trying. "I just want to know what you're feeling. Any of it."

Fíli lowered his gaze, and the stoic mask he was wearing faltered. "I don't know. I mean, I still…I still feel like shit every time I remember that they're gone." He looked up. "But I don't blame you for it."

Thorin nodded and stepped closer. "I want to try and be a better uncle. To you and Kíli and Gimli."

Fíli smiled slightly. "Well…maybe you can play Smash with us sometime."

"Okay." He wasn't sure what to make of the sudden lightness in his chest. "We can do that."

Fíli reached out first, wrapping his arms around Thorin's shoulders. He stood in shock for a moment, then returned the embrace.

And finally, _finally_, it felt as if some of the burden he carried on his shoulders, the weight he bore like a mantle, had begun to lift.

**Just realized this isn't a great time to be writing about a post-pandemic apocalypse, but hopefully this chapter gave you all a bit of hope. And I hope y'all are safe and healthy.**

**Anyway, ****I really enjoyed writing this chapter. After all the doom and gloom that's been the past, like, ten chapters, it was really nice to have everyone start to heal. This was mainly meant to tie everything together and clean up any loose ends. Next chapter will be an epilogue of sorts, and then I'll give some final announcements.**


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

"This place looks so weird."

Bilbo brushed some soil from his hands and looked up as Kíli entered the room. "And what's so weird about it?"

"I dunno. I guess I've never seen plants…stacked before."

The greenhouse did look rather unconventional. It was filled with metal racks, each stacked with trays filled with soil. Any plant life that had been here before had withered and died—Bilbo guessed Smaug hadn't had much of a green thumb.

And although they had enough food in storage to last them years, Bilbo had taken it upon himself to restore the greenhouse and fill it with life again. It was nice to get back into gardening, even in such an unconventional space.

"I suppose it does look a little strange," Bilbo said with a small laugh. "I was sort of expecting this to be all red light, like some creepy photo lab."

Kíli walked over and lifted his chin to try and get a look at the shelf he was working on. "What are you growing here?"

Bilbo indicated a stool he could pull over. "Carrots. I was thinking, since this place has a greater variety of food than we had at the farm, I could start baking again. Might be able to scrape together a shepherd's pie one day…" He sighed wistfully. "Maybe we could have some real bread."

Kíli climbed on top of the stool and peered over the edge of the tray. "They're already growing!"

Bilbo grinned. "It's going to take another couple of weeks before they're ready. Do you want to help me water them?"

Kíli nodded eagerly, and Bilbo passed him the watering can.

"Not too much, okay? You don't want to drown them." He moved on to the next tray over. "It's good that we won't really have to worry about the seasons, either. We can grow pretty much whatever we want, provided we can find the right—oh, for god's sake, Nori!"

"What?" Kíli glanced over and Bilbo reached out to pluck a small green sprout from the corner of the tray.

"He thinks he can start a pot farm in the middle of the apocalypse… Not in _my_ greenhouse," Bilbo grumbled, tossing the sprout into a bucket at his feet. "I thought I got rid of all his seeds last week."

Kíli snickered and lowered the watering can. "Why? Is it a bad plant, or something?"

"It's ridiculous, is what it is." Bilbo shook his head in exasperation. "Look, I know this sort of thing isn't really relevant anymore, but you must never try any drugs, alright?"

He furrowed his brow. "Uh…okay."

"Good." Bilbo nodded, satisfied. "Now, let's go check on the parsley."

They walked over to another section of the room, pausing along the way to fill up the watering can. Bilbo prodded at the tiny green leaves, humming quietly to himself.

"Can I ask you something?" Kíli set the watering can on the floor and stretched.

"Sure."

"What do you think would've happened, if you hadn't found us in your apartment?"

Bilbo looked at him with an unsure smile, surprised at his question. "Kíli, that was a long time ago. Why are you wondering about that now?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I've been thinking about how…how things would've been different."

"Well, just don't let yourself get wrapped up in that." He patted him on the shoulder. "As for your question…I'd like to think you would have made it back to your parents eventually. Either Thorin would have found you, or someone else would have helped you along the way."

"And what about you?"

Bilbo tilted his head and thought for a moment. "Well, I'd probably be dead."

"What?"

He shrugged. "I mean, I wasn't much of a survivor before I met you all. I was doing alright, but I get the feeling it wouldn't have lasted." He smiled. "Thorin and the rest taught me how to fight, gave me a _reason_ to fight."

"Yeah." Kíli swung his arms aimlessly as he looked around. "And now we're here. Putting plants on shelves."

Bilbo snorted. "You make that sound like a bad thing."

"I just don't wanna get bored."

"Oh, don't you _dare_ jinx us." Bilbo reached over to tweak his ear, and Kíli ducked away. "After all that? I would be more than happy to spend the rest of my days doing the exact same thing over and over again."

"Yeah, I guess." Kíli nudged some loose soil with the toe of his sneaker. "I mean, if things do change, I want it to be for the better."

Bilbo nodded, his expression softening. "I do, too."

The door swung open, and Tilda's dirty blonde hair flashed between a pair of shelves. "Kíli!"

He waved to her. "Over here!"

She ran to them, her face flushed with youthful exertion. "Bofur and Bombur got the pool working!"

Kíli brightened. "Really?"

Bilbo blinked. "Wait, we have a pool?"

"Come on, let's go check it out!" Tilda gestured for him to follow, then darted from the room.

Kíli turned to look at Bilbo. "Are you coming with us?"

"I guess I'd better."

"I'll race you there!" Kíli tore across the room.

Bilbo watched him with a smile, shaking his head, then hurried after him.

* * *

Thorin drew himself from sleep slowly, wakefulness trickling in like the light before dawn. Once he'd gained enough awareness, his brow twitched—the room was dark, and smelled unfamiliar. His hand brushed against soft sheets, the arm flung over his bare chest…

_Bilbo_.

He relaxed slightly as memory reasserted itself. They were in Erebor, in the apartment they shared, in the bed they had all to themselves. Thorin sighed and closed his eyes. Most nights he woke up at some random hour after anxiety or nightmares chased him from sleep. Other nights he would wake up and try to recall who was supposed to be on watch.

He craned his neck to glance at the electric clock next to the bed. 9 a.m.—he'd slept through the whole night, and then some.

Beside him, Bilbo shifted in his sleep, muttering something under his breath. After a few minutes, he sighed and mumbled, "What time is it?"

"Ten past nine."

"Bit of a late start for you."

Thorin smiled and reached up to clasp his fingers over Bilbo's. "I thought I'd sleep in today."

"Really?" Though he couldn't see, he could feel Bilbo raise his head. "Who are you, and what have you done with Thorin?"

He laughed softly at that. "I just figured the later I sleep in, the more time I get in bed with you."

"Was that your reasoning?" Bilbo's fingers lifted, tracing along his jaw, across his lower lip. "And what are you planning on doing while you have me here?"

Thorin wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. "Getting some more sleep, obviously."

Bilbo laughed and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. They lay there for a while, enjoying each other's warmth. A drowsy haze fell over Thorin, and he settled into it.

"I'm going to start writing my book today," Bilbo said. "About everything that happened."

"Hmm."

"Help me think of a title?"

Thorin pondered for a moment, eyes closed. "The End of the World."

Bilbo snickered. "A good title."

"Uh…Attack of the Walkers."

"A _good_ title."

"Well, what's your great idea?"

"I don't have one yet." Bilbo tapped his chest. "That's why I was picking your brain, genius."

"The Great Journey."

"You're unbelievable." Bilbo laughed as Thorin rolled him over and pinned him to the bed, planting kisses on his neck just light enough to tickle. "Alright, alright! I'll pick my own title."

"I think that's for the best," Thorin said, and smiled as Bilbo took his face in both hands and pulled him in.

They kissed slowly, lazily, drawing pleasure from the simple slide of lips even as drowsiness settled once again over the dark room. Thorin pressed his face against Bilbo's neck, holding him close. His heart felt full in a way he never could have imagined. Bilbo wrapped an arm around him, fingers gently stroking through his hair.

"We should probably get up soon," Thorin murmured.

Bilbo smiled against his skin. "Let's stay here for a while longer."

* * *

Little white flowers wreathed the clearing. They hadn't been there the last time Fíli had visited, but the air was warm now, the first breath of spring ghosting over the mountainside.

Small clusters of them crowned the two headstones set in the earth. Bofur and Bombur had worked for weeks to properly carve markers for Víli and Balin—in the small space they'd managed to fit names and approximated dates.

It still cracked something open inside of him, coming here. Thinking of his father brought the same hollow ache to his chest, but it no longer overwhelmed him. Somehow, over the past few months, he'd started to make room for the pain.

It had been strange, living inside a mountain for so long. Living without windows gave the whole place a strange, timeless quality, but so much had changed since they'd arrived. They'd spent their time growing, building, _living_, and for once it hadn't seemed like they were only pretending. Fíli didn't think there was anything more real than seeing Thorin smile often, watching Gimli run through the halls with endless energy, watching bad movies with Sigrid and Bain and laughing at the cheesy acting.

Once the weather got better, he wanted to visit Beorn. So far none of them had been far from the front door of the mountain—they had everything they needed inside. But Fíli still wanted to make that journey, even if it was risky. He'd spent late nights talking with Kíli about it, how they still had some kind of obligation to try for _more_.

The rustle of brush made him look up. In an instant, Fíli was on his feet, one hand on his gun. He crept behind a tree and listened.

Technically, no one was supposed to leave the mountain alone, just in case something were to happen. This was the only exception Fíli made for himself, when he needed some time alone with his thoughts, and the small graveyard was close enough to the door that he'd easily be able to make it back inside. At any rate, Ori was standing watch until he returned, and was still in earshot if the need arose.

Fíli leaned out from behind the tree and scanned the woods. It was possible it was just a wild animal making noises, and he was getting himself worked up for nothing. They hadn't seen much wildlife on the mountain, partially because a good section of the trees were still scarred by fire. It would probably be a while before new growth replaced the charred remains.

He spotted a distinctly human movement farther down the slope. There were two, a man and a woman, clearly moving together—which meant they weren't walkers. He watched them, his pulse thundering in his ears. They seemed to be struggling up the incline, which meant he would have time to make it to the door and tell the others.

Then he caught sight of the woman's belly—swollen with a late pregnancy, supported by one grimy hand. He immediately thought of Brana, how they'd fought to keep her fed on the road, the way her blood had soaked into her shirt after they'd escaped from the warehouse.

Keeping his gun raised, he followed a narrow trail down the mountainside. Once he was close enough to the couple, and in a good position to find cover if he needed it, he called out to them.

"Stop!" They both turned to him, flinching like cornered animals. He pointed his gun at them, trying to quell the tremor in his arms. "Put your hands up. Where I can see them."

They both obeyed, though the man looked as if he wanted to reach out and support his companion. They were both filthy, skin shadowed with grime and clothing mottled with stains that were too old to be identifiable.

"Are there any more with you?" he asked.

"No," the man said, sounding breathless. "Just us. Please, she needs help." He indicated the woman. Her face was drawn with exhaustion and pain.

Fíli swallowed and tightened his grip on his gun. He didn't know these people. For all he knew, this could be a trap. Thorin had told him stories of people who faked injuries to try and rob passerby.

But he and Kíli had made a pact. They'd promised each other to try for _more_.

"Just wait here," he said. "If you try to follow me, I…I can't guarantee your safety."

The man nodded and hesitantly reached out to support the woman.

Fíli didn't take his eyes off them until he was a good ways up the slope. He paused every so often to scan his surroundings, but the trees remained silent and still. Once the door was in sight, he broke into a run.

Ori immediately straightened as he ducked inside. "What happened? Is something wrong?"

"No. I mean, kind of. Where's Thorin?"

"In the dining room, I think." Ori glanced at him, then the door. "What's going on?"

"I'll explain later." He rushed down the hallway towards the dining room.

Thorin, Óin, Glóin, and Brana were inside, sitting around empty dishes and the remnants of a card game. But Thorin was on his feet the moment he saw Fíli's face.

"What happened?"

Fíli gestured for Thorin to follow him, and they began walking down the hallway, the other three close behind.

"I found some people outside—a man and a pregnant woman. They asked for my help, and—"

"Wait, you were out there alone?" Thorin frowned.

"Yeah, but nothing happened," Fíli said. Thorin's expression told him he wasn't going to let that one slide, but he kept talking. "I just told them to wait, so I could tell you about it. And I think we should let them in."

"Fíli, we don't know anything about these people, what their intentions are."

"I know. But the woman, she looked sick, and they were both terrified. We have everything they need. A-As long as we're safe about it…" He stopped and met Thorin's eyes. "I want to try and help them. Now that we have this place…that's who we have to be."

Thorin considered him for a long moment, and something in his expression softened. He turned to Óin and nodded once.

Óin split off with Brana to prep the infirmary, while Thorin, Fíli, and Glóin headed for the door. Ori was practically bouncing on his toes by the time they reached it, though he'd taken a moment to lock it.

"Fíli found some other survivors," Thorin said before Ori could ask. "Watch the entrance, alright?"

The two strangers were waiting in the same spot Fíli had left them. Thorin approached them first, with Fíli and Glóin flanking him, on the lookout for any attackers.

Thorin had his gun in hand, though he didn't raise it. "Put your weapons on the ground, now."

Even with his new, more easygoing demeanor, Thorin had slipped instantly back into the commanding presence he'd carried on the road. The man fumbled for the gun tucked into his belt and placed it in the dirt. Wincing slightly, the woman pulled out a knife and did the same. At Thorin's signal, Glóin stepped forward and collected both.

"We'll take you inside. We have a doctor that can look you over." Thorin turned to the woman. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah," the woman rasped, though she reached over to lean on the man.

Thorin led the way back up the slope, with Fíli and Glóin bringing up the rear. Ori let them in, eyes roaming curiously over the newcomers. Once the door was shut, Thorin patted them both down, then gestured for them to continue.

Once they reached the end of the hall, Thorin paused and put a hand on Fíli's shoulder. "We'll take it from here. You should tell the others what happened."

"Okay." Fíli paused and holstered his gun. "And thanks for listening to me, with this."

Thorin squeezed his shoulder and nodded. "I'm proud of you. And Víli would be, too." He turned and began leading the newcomers to the infirmary.

Fíli watched them go with a smile, then went to find the rest of his family.

**And with that, our story comes to an end. This fic took me about a year, and it's the longest thing I've ever written. 2019 was really hard for me, and it was a really welcome escape to come inhabit this world and tell this story, even if it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows.**

**Thank you to themuse123 for being such an MVP with the reviews, I love to hear your thoughts and it's lovely to have a zombie apocalypse fic buddy on this site :) Thank you to la Dictateuse for the lovely reviews and for the fanart, that's one of the greatest gifts an author can receive. Thank you to Celebrisilweth for such consistent to reviews. And thank you to everyone else who left a review or just read along silently.**

**Before I leave off, I do want to say that I don't think this story is done for good. I've been thinking for a while about doing a sequel (and y'all have been asking about it anyway haha), and while I don't have a full plot, I'm thinking it would probably involve another time jump as well as some new characters in addition to the old crew. I have enough right now for a first chapter or so, and I'll be posting that soon if you want to check that out :)**


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